


Space/Time Jutsu (are a Bitch)

by Officer_Jennie



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Depression, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Parallel Universes, Rating May Change, Sane Madara, Slow Burn, Uchiha Izuna Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: (Update Schedule: On hiatus)Tobirama had a lot of questions on how their lives could have gone differently: What if Izuna had survived the war? What if the Uchiha had been more receptive to peace? If Madara had never given in to his hate?He never actually thought he'd get the answers.Or: The time Tobirama tried to improve his hiraishin, and inadvertently crashed into a parallel universe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama laments his changing relationship with his only brother, throws himself at research and war preparations, and finally tests out his travel-based hiraishin - to mixed results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies ahead of time: this chapter has a lot of fuinjutsu creation mumbo jumbo, which is all based on what I think jutsu creation would be like, I.e. absolute hell. Also, I only drafted this once and didn't really bother much with editing because I suck at life.

Tobirama scowled down at the notes on his desk, still wet ink shining under the lamplight. Various tomes on ancient sealing were piled around him, notes and scrolls scattered in an organized mess that only he could navigate. The soft brushing against parchment was the only sound to break the silence of his lab, air as quiet and still as the night outside.

Technically speaking, his hiraishin had been completed years before, having been used even during the Senju-Uchiha war. He had started working on the jutsu as a child after all, first testing it just a few weeks after the loss of his second brother, though it had taken several more years of perfecting it before he felt confident using it in battle, and even then he used it sparingly.

Though that was its main use, he didn’t just use the hiraishin for combat. Shortly after the founding of Konoha, he had started using it for limited travel use, mainly when he didn’t want to deal with people outside of work. For a while he just placed a seal in his living room as an anchor, using it to quickly return home when he stayed late at his office or lab. After a few months of this, he eventually decided to place some more around the village, putting one in his office, his lab, the northern and southern gates to Konoha, and even in his brother’s house.

After a year or two of traveling in such a fashion, he finally realized that, while the hiraishin was excellent at short range, it was inefficient as a means of longer-distance travel - at least, as it was at the moment. Though it got him where he wanted, and, most importantly, when he wanted, the chakra cost used when compared to the distance traveled was utterly ridiculous.

So, being sure to leave the battle version as it was, he had started working on a version of the hiraishin specifically formatted for travel, playing with the seals and tweaking it here and there. It quickly became his one reprieve from constant fretting and what was essentially war preparation.

It had been three months, one week, and five days since Madara had defected from Konoha, and every second of Tobirama’s day stretched on and on. Unease prickled under his skin, keeping him twitchy and paranoid, itching for the comfort of a sword gripped in his hands. He recognized it was unhealthy to be on edge so often, and found comfort in the familiar safety of his research.

What started initially as just an attempt to lower the exponential growth of chakra cost over long distances had soon turned into an inventor’s playing ground. There were so many areas he hadn’t considered at first, so many possibilities that had been far from his war hungry mind when he first invented the Flying Thunder God technique, too focused on killing to see the every day uses. For a few manic hours, the scientist had found himself frantically jotting down idea after idea, ecstatic to find inspiration in something again.

Now, after several weeks had calmed down the initial influx of joy, he honestly just wanted to set his lab ablaze and never look back. There were just _too many_ possibilities, _too many_ things he wanted to do all at once.

The pale man groaned, scrubbing his face with calloused hands. His research lay in haphazard piles, to help organize his thoughts, but so many areas overlapped that it was useless trying to separate them. He was working on the Travel Distance aspects at the moment, trying to expand how far away the seals could activate together, but every time he changed something there he had to spend hours on the Chakra Consumption components. All of this always led to triple and quadruple checking of the Time Distance parts - the last thing he wanted was a repeat of his first hiraishin disaster, where he’d disappeared for nearly a week - and these three layers were only the _basics_ , the lowest tier of what he was making.

And this was just one of the directions he wanted to take the jutsu in.

Red eyes peeking through long fingers, he glanced over at the clock. Two am. He sighed heavily before abandoning his work for the night, standing up and stretching. A flash of hand signs and he was home, heading down the dark hallway towards his room. He was to meet with Hashirama in the morning, and needed at least a few hours before facing his brother.

 

* * *

 

After a quick breakfast of leftover plain rice-and-seaweed onigiri, Tobirama flashed to his office at the hokage tower, avoiding the early morning rush in the streets below. He made his way through the hallways quickly, nodding a brief hello to Hyuuga Rin, not at all surprised to see the woman burying her nose in paperwork at such an hour. The Hyuuga were known for their punctuality and serious work ethic; their clan head was no exception to this.

Finally arriving, Tobirama gave a shark knock on the wood door before entering the hokage’s office, not bothering to wait for a reply. His brother sat behind his desk, quietly scanning a document, the bags under his eyes suggesting little sleep. Neither spoke a greeting, the younger settling himself into the oak chair opposite the desk, waiting in silence for Hashirama to address him.

There was a time, only half a year ago, when the silence would have been welcome, comfortable, between them. Now it only felt wrong. Despite working in the same building, despite living across the road from each other, they hardly shared a word anymore, even for business. When they did, it was strained, off.

Tobirama had only been here for five minutes, and he already wanted to go home.

At last, the older Senju put his scroll down, picking up a mission file to hand over. “You’re needed in Tea Country. Leave Friday morning at the latest.” A wave of a tawny hand, and he was dismissed without a glance from his older brother.

Hashirama never looked at Tobirama anymore, not really. Even when their eyes met, the older man was looking past him. It felt as if Tobirama was constantly being judged - and always found lacking.

Even still, Tobirama paused at the door, white fingers tight on the handle he hadn’t yet turned. It had been over three months. He knew he hadn’t really been there for his brother, not really knowing how to comfort him in person. He’d done what he knew how to, had taken on all of Hashirama’s duties when the man couldn’t drag himself out of his house for nearly three weeks in his grief. Was that not enough? Should he have done something more? Whatever this was, this tension between them…

“Did you need something?” He met his brother’s umber gaze. Couldn’t read the emotions there as he used to, couldn’t tell what his brother was thinking. His brother, who was always so open and warm, carefree, accepting of everyone.

His brother, who looked at him as if he were not there, as if he shouldn’t be there.

“Nothing, Hokage-sama.” He left quietly, not bothering to wait for a response. He knew he wouldn’t get one.

 

* * *

 

Not wanting to spend the day in the tower, Tobirama only dropped by his office briefly to pick up any urgent paperwork. He had made a habit of this recently, only staying when absolutely necessary. Most anyone who would need him knew to leave a message, and if the matter was urgent, they could reach him through his brother.

Since he never had trouble keeping up with his work, there was only a small stack of documents needed done by that afternoon, and only about a dozen others that would need to be done before he left - all in all, that was only a few hours work for him. If he was leaving Friday, that gave him three days to prepare. And - he ran his eyes over the mission details - it would really only take him an hour to do so Thursday night.

Arriving at his lab after a flicker of hand seals, he sat back down at his desk, preparing his ink and brush, working through his work quickly before going back to his own project. Going all the way to Tea Country gave him the perfect opportunity to test the distance of his travel-based hiraishin, but he needed to spend as much time as possible working on it beforehand. The chakra cost of the original over that distance was vastly more than he could ever afford - it would kill him near instantly.

That being said, of what he’s changed, it might not kill him. Might not.

The main concern at the moment was how consistent the chakra cost would be. Since it was primarily used in battle, in a relatively small area, it was originally difficult to measure how much the chakra cost increased over distance. For shorter distances, it remained relatively the same - or, at the very least, the cost increased at consistent increments. He had been attempting to make distance a non-factor in how much chakra was consumed by the jutsu; and, if that wasn’t difficult enough, trying to also keep the chakra cost at a reasonable level was honestly nightmare fuel at this point.

By the time Thursday rolled around, Tobirama wasn’t that much closer to an on-paper solution, let alone one safe enough for field study. After a quick breakfast of rice and miso, he went back to his lab anyway, fully expecting another day of disappointments.

When a solution finally hit him, he was near angry that it hadn’t occurred to him before.

Chakra storage seals.

He jumped up from his slumped position over his notes, nearly sending his chair flying in his haste, rushing over to the bookshelf on the far wall. Chakra storage sealing was one of his favorite fields of study, making up nearly an eight of his collected tomes on sealing, and it was something he had considered including in a version of the hiraishin previously. At the time, he had been wanting to create a fail safe for shinobi on out-of-village missions. The idea had been to have a secure and heavily guarded base anchor in the village, and all active Konoha shinobi would have a hirahishin seal with them that, if activated, would transport them to the anchor instantly. On top of that, to counteract the potential of low chakra in the user, the chakra storage seals worked in would have enough stored to transport up to two people.

Of course, after Madara’s explosive exit, Tobirama had put that project on hiatus. As useful as such a thing would be, it also posed a potentially major security risk if in the hands of enemy nin. He’d put both the blueprints and proposal away to collect dust indefinitely.

But, if he used the storage seals here…

He flipped through the yellowed pages, pacing behind his chair while skimming over the previously marked margins, his own notes refreshing his mind on the subject. Even if he couldn’t lower the chakra cost much more, even if he couldn’t keep the cost consistent over the distance, he could use stored chakra to keep it from killing him.

He sat back in his chair, inspiration reignited as he got back to work. It would be tricky still, risky even. He would need more than one fail safe built in. If he had the seals auto deactivate when the user’s chakra was too low, and if the storage seals flowed directly into the user afterward…

By the time he slumped down onto his futon that night, he was beyond exhausted, and only had four hours to sleep until he left. But he found himself near giddy with anticipation and pride, something he hadn’t felt in nearly a year.

His new hiraishin just might work.

 

* * *

 

Not even the dull nature of his mission could bring Tobirama’s mood down. He was to represent Konoha’s interests at a meeting with Tea Country dignitaries - really, he was there more as a threatening presence than anything else. Konoha had no issues with their proposals, nor any further suggestions for the non-shinobi villages. He did have to dodge some rather insistent marriage proposals, but, as the current heir to a rather powerful and well-known clan, he was more than used to it by then.

Finally, after six days of non-stop meetings, led by people who honestly couldn’t talk themselves out of a sake keg, it was time to test his improved jutsu.

As he sat in his hotel room preparing his mission report, he thought, in passing, that he should really name this travel-based hiraishin something other than “the improved hiraishin,” but, ultimately, decided that was a thought for later.

Though he believed this was a relatively safe test, in comparison to many jutsu before that had unsurprisingly landed him in the hospital a few times, he still wanted to send his report in separately. With a quick bite to his thumb and a pulse of chakra, a young leopard appeared in a puff of smoke.

“Hanten,” Tobirama knelt down in front of the feline, fondness already softening the edges of his face as she loudly demanded attention. She was roughly twice the size of a domestic cat, and was one of his lesser summons, but one of his favorites nonetheless. She practically vibrated with how aggressively she purred at him, ramming her head into his palms and licking his fingers. He scratched behind her ears, feeling a moment of guilt for not calling on her more often. “I need you to take something to Anija. Can you do that?”

Being unable to speak, she nodded vigorously at him, bumping her head on the outstretched scroll before taking it gently between her teeth. Instead of leaving immediately, she forced her way into his lab, refusing to budge until she was thoroughly spoiled.

As he watched her leap out the window, the black tip of her tail flickering out of sight, he made a mental note to spend more time with her. He had been there when she had been birthed only a few years ago, and had bonded with her near instantly - had carried her everywhere for a few months, both refusing to leave the other’s side. He missed that companionship.

Getting back to the task at hand, he gathered all of his supplies, running over his mental check list several times before finally, finally, he was ready. He pulled out a slip of parchment, black ink already marking the seals, previously stored chakra buzzing at his fingertips. All he needed to do was concentrate on the desired anchor location, press his chakra into the seals…

A deep breath. Excitement and adrenaline buzzed under his skin, the start of a grin pulling at his mouth, eyes wide. This was it.

A pulse of energy, and he was gone, stretching towards his destination.

Because of the nature of space-time jutsu, though it happened near instantaneous to any onlookers, the user always perceived a passage of time. It was, after all, the act of traveling through both space and time, not just one or the other. And, over longer distances, time seemed to stretch further and further, despite no recordable effects on the jutsu user.

Over nearly a whole country, time stretched to near eternity. Tobirama had no way to measure his experience, but he knew it had never taken so long before - of course, that was to be expected. This was the furthest he had traveled via hiraishin after all; his current experience with the perceived passage of time was of no concer.

His rapidly depleting chakra, however, was rather concerning.

Just as he thought the fail safes might have, well, failed, and he might die from chakra exhaustion, he crashed into what he believed to be his brother’s living room, arrival sending him flying into several pieces of wooden furniture without warning.

As he lay on his back, gasping at the sudden and intense pain on the back of his head, vision swimming, he had a brief moment to realize that this wasn’t where he meant to teleport.

Then, his vision went black.

 

* * *

 

The sharp smell of anti-septic was the first thing he noticed, followed shortly by how ungodly bright the room was. He blinked his eyes open, squinting up at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying with little success to remember how he had gotten here. His thoughts were muddy, and he could only recall hitting his head hard against something after using the hiraishin.

He hated head injuries.

Groaning loudly, he started pushing himself up, a thin white sheet slipping off of his torso - then strong arms were helping him sit up, and a rather distraught Hashirama was suddenly fretting over him: checking his pulse, his breathing, pressing warm fingertips near his head injury, a thousand questions shot at him like rapid fire.

Since his thoughts couldn’t quite yet keep up with his brother’s frantic questions, he merely blinked up at the man, noting his wet eyes and overall frazzled appearance. The behavior was in direct contrast to what he’d been experiencing for the past few months - I.e. avoiding Tobirama and not speaking to him unless absolutely necessary - the change definitely not warranted from what he assumed to be a minor concussion.

He was reminded once more of his first attempt at the hiraishin, just a few short weeks after Itama had been buried. How he had activated the jutsu and not reappeared until six days had passed, returning to a furious and concerned Butsuma and a sobbing brother.

By the similar panicked look in Hashirama’s eyes now, he could only assume he’d messed up again.

“How long was I gone this time?” A pause, the slurred question hanging the air between them, and Hashirama broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names used:
> 
> Hyuuga Rin (凛) - Rin meaning 'severe,' 'cold,' or 'dignified'  
> Hanten (斑点) - 'speck' or 'fleck,' but the word is also used for the spots on a leopard.
> 
> Questions/comments are appreciated and welcomed!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hashirama is fretting, Tobirama is confused, and Madara's honestly just mad that he's out of the loop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally gonna be, like, half as long, but fucking Hashirama got emotional on me, and Tobirama apparently can't deal with emotional people, so it took them fucking ages to just sit down and talk like normal people. Fucking Senju, man.
> 
> Next time, they're being locked in a closet and just dealing with it.

The second time Tobirama woke up, he found his head was much clearer, though his more recent memories were still too muddled to fully put together. Everything around him was bright white and smelled of bleach, so he was either in his lab or a hospital room; seeing as he was on a bed, he was going with the latter. As he sat up, he felt the rough scratch of gauze slipping on his forehead. Before he could remove the bandages, however, he was once again stopped by Hashirama.

There’s a caution in his brother’s movements, a hesitation he didn’t recall ever seeing in him before. He seemed twitchy, the occasional odd quiver to his breaths and his arms unusually stiff. From the close distance, Tobirama could see the dark bags under his brother’s eyes - eyes that were still unreadable, but no longer closed off or distant. Now, there were too many emotions swimming there, all flickering in his gaze too fast to name.

“Let me check the wound.” Tobirama let his hands fall to his lap, leaving his brother to his work. The gauze slipped away, stained pink near the bandage. Hashirama felt around the wound gently, more gently than he usually did. Tobirama was reminded of when they were children, his older brother patting at his scraped knees as if he was a normal seven year old and not a battle veteran already.

“It looks mostly healed, but there’s still some scabbing,” Hashirama mumbled, mostly to himself. He stepped away, removing gloves Tobirama hadn’t even realized he’d put on. He then seemed to freeze for a moment, expression oddly tight while he stared at the younger man.

Whatever emotion had stopped him was shaken off after a few moments. He glanced around them before spotting his clipboard. He flipped the first few pages over, scanning through the information before finding what he needed, clearing his throat.

“Your heart rate is a little low, but nothing to be worried about. We still need to check your balance, as well as your sight and memory. Normal clotting, charka stores low but that’s to be expected. No muscle dystrophy to note, nothing swollen or broken.”

“I can read,” Tobirama drawled before his brother could continue. He left it unspoken that he would understand the jargon; he had studied just as much into the medical sciences as Hashirama, if not more. Even if the brunet was the natural medic and more experienced healer, Tobirama enjoyed researching iryou ninjutsu. And if it just so happened he didn’t trust anyone else to save his brother in a crisis…

Well, being the second leading healer in all of Fire Country, he wouldn’t have to.

Hashirama stared at him for a few moments, almost like he was processing that his brother had spoken at all, before clearing his throat again. “Oh. Right. Yes.”

When he still didn’t make a move towards handing the clipboard over, Tobirama gave it a pointed look and held out his hand. That seemed to finally knock Hashirama out of whatever stupor he was in, and he practically trust the papers at the albino.

Not feeling like questioning his brother’s odd behavior just yet, Tobirama gave him a questioning quirk of an eyebrow instead before turning to his medical report to skim through the information. He quickly found himself confused at how overly thorough it was. It looked like they had run literally every test they could on him, with some results still pending.

“You were rather thorough.” He didn’t mean for the tone to be so dry, but he was too busy thinking to pay attention to how he sounded. Yes, head injuries were never to be taken lightly, but the injury had been minor if anything. But not even a major head injury would qualify him for half these tests. Why were they checking his cholesterol? And a pending report on a skin culture?

Hashirama’s gaze was focused on the wall behind his brother when he replied, his voice small. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

It was entirely unfair that the tone made Tobirama feel so guilty, seeing as he hadn’t really done anything this time. Besides test a space-time jutsu alone. Without telling anyone he was doing so. And testing it _somewhere_ other than home - he was still working on the where part, but he was sure he’d remember it eventually. Oh, and wrecking his brother’s living room.

And passing out there while bleeding all over the hard wood.

Even put like that, it was hardly the worst thing he’d done. Nothing to feel guilty about anyway. Nope, nothing at all.

A few minutes of silence passed that way, with Tobirama attempting to scowl his guilt into submission and Hashirama becoming increasingly fidgety right next to him. When the white haired man finally spared a glance at his brother, noticing how uncomfortable the other was, he heaved a sigh. Apparently this situation had done nothing to dull Hashirama’s anger at him, for whatever he’d done to deserve it to begin with. No doubt he didn’t want to be here but his doctoral duties weren’t letting him just leave.

Deciding he’s spent quite enough quiet time in this dull room, Tobirama went to get up, flinging the white sheet off. He managed to get his bare feet on the ice-cold floor before Hashirama was lurching forward, pushing him back by his shoulders. Tobirama allowed himself to be held still, pinching his eyebrows together at the fear and worry in the forefront of his brother’s umber eyes.

As soon as the albino was settled, Hashirama jerked his hands back, mumbling under his breath. Tobirama caught somethign about staying still and being cautious, but wasn’t entirely certain even at this short distance.

Once again, the scientist got the distinct impression that this was about more than his head injury. He held the clipboard out, catching his brother’s eyes as he took it back. “This is all a bit excessive for a minor concussion, don’t you think?”

Hashirama froze then, knuckles white from his grip on the clipboard. He tried to say something, his voice not quite working right, causing a few false starts. Whatever he wanted to say seemed too painful to get out. Eventually, he took a deep breath and asked instead, “Do you not remember?”

He was leveled with a heavy look in response. Tobirama had always hated how his brother avoided topics, talking around an issue instead of spitting out whatever needed to be said or asked. His gaze softens, however, at the full wet of his brother’s eyes. As difficult as it had been to read him lately, he’d always been able to tell when his brother was being dramatic; this, apparently, wasn’t one of those times. For whatever reason, Hashirama was legitimately upset.

But why, exactly? Tobirama frowned, thinking about the events that lead to his concussion. From the bits and pieces he remembered, he had been testing the distance of a new hiraishin - had he been out of country with Hanten? What for?

And why his brother’s living room?

He made a mental note that picking the right anchor must be more difficult over long distances, filing it away for later contemplation. He focused back on the situation at hand. If Hashirama was upset enough to be holding back the waterworks instead of sobbing loudly like a child, then there was clearly something serious going on.

Suddenly remembering his original question from…earlier that day? The day before? He should really find that out - Tobirama asked once more, subconsciously tilting his head ever so slightly:

“How long was I gone?”

Out of his periphery, he could see Hashirama’s teeth tearing into his bottom lip. Flashes of confusion-pain-guilt on his face as he took a deep breath, two, three.

Despite his attempts to calm himself, his voice still broke. “It’s been _years_ , Tobira.” He was quick to wipe his eyes, dabbing at them with the edges of his long sleeves.

It took a while for that information to sink in, and Tobirama took a moment to realize his brother wasn’t in either his hokage robes or his doctor’s uniform. Years. He’d been missing for _years_. Who had been taking care of his paperwork, his students? And what of the improved academy curriculum he had been working? In passing, he noted how weak his limbs suddenly felt, rather glad he had already been sitting down.

His lab was going to be an absolute mess.

In his dazed state, Tobirama was only vaguely aware that his brother was back to fretting over him - though, to his credit, he was managing to keep his fretting professional. It was only when Tobirama’s face was being turned this way and that, Hashirama’s face only inches away as he studied his eyes intently, did the younger man finally swat the doctor away. This time, he was not pushed back down as he stood, though all six feet of his brother continued to loom over him.

“I still think you should be resting, just to be safe. When’s your birthday? Our father’s name?”

“February 19, Senju Butsuma.” Tobirama sidestepped Hashirama, dodging the arm that reached out as if to support him. At that moment, all he wanted to do was go home, crawl into his own futon, and sleep. Probably for a week.

He’d have to beat the dust out first. Right. _Years_.

As he started towards the door, holding in a groan at all of his misfortune - his past life must have been too easy, it’s the only explanation for how difficult his current one was - he was once again bodily blocked from the exit by the persistent tree stump he called family.

“You have to take it easy. My name? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Tobirama once again had to swat hands away from his face, and had the sudden childish desire to simply bite them to keep them away. “Three, and Senju Hashirama. I can take it easy at home, Anija.”

Though the sudden frozen look at being called his brother should have been confusing, Tobirama chose to simply take advantage of the pause instead of questioning it, sidestepping him again and near bolting out the door. He purposely ignored the concerned question - “Wait, are you saying my name is three, or was that the amount of fingers?” - thrown at his back as he walked down the corridor, heading towards the stairs at the side of the building.

The big oaf didn’t take long to catch up with him, however, jogging a bit before walking at his side. His lips were pursed together in a rather concerned look, but he seemed to know better than to restate his idiotic question.

Something seemed to dawn on him though, and he turned to his brother, speaking carefully. “You’ll have to stay with me for a while.”

“Why? I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Well…you don’t exactly have a house- we should probably talk.” Grabbing his brother’s arm, Hashirama pulled them both to a stop.

As he was about to protest, Tobirama realized what his brother had just said, and narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you mean I don’t have a house?”

Hashirama bounced on his feet, looking anywhere to avoid the accusation in ruby eyes. “Well, we sort of-”

“My lab?” Tobirama cursed under his breath, wrenching his arm away from his brother’s grasp. “All of my books? My research? Is it all gone?”

“You were dead, Tobira! I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry…”

“ _Dead_?” Tobirama scoffed, running a hand through his hair. He made an effort to keep his volume down, trying to not make a scene in public but becoming a little  _absolutely livid_. “I’m gone for a few years, and all of my research, _decades of work_ , gone!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes tight to fight back his anger. He was a little more successful at controlling his volume when he continued. “Did Mito at least keep some of my sealing tomes?”

She more than likely had. The Uzumaki had been the one to gift him at least half of his collection to begin with, and some of them were original prints - one of a kind. With any luck, she’d kept his notes as well. It would certainly be easier to work on improving his hiraishin if he didn’t have to start over from scratch.

When he realized he wasn’t getting an answer, Tobirama opened his eyes, bodily turning to stare at his brother. Hashirama was busy fiddling with the edge of his sleeves, frowning while avoiding eye contact.

Great. That boded well.

“Did she?”

Hashirama peeked up at him, for all the world resembling a concerned but completely ignorant child. “Tobira, who’s Mito?”

And his tone suggested that _Tobirama_ was the one making zero sense.

Finding his voice was suddenly absent, Tobirama chose to just give his brother’s inane question the look it honestly deserved instead of responding. He then promptly turned on his heels and stormed down the hallway, intent on making it two weeks holing up on his futon to sleep this madness away. He was halfway down the stairs before his fretting brother caught back up, all the while telling him to slow down.

“Wait! Tobira, we really need to talk! A lot has changed-”

“We can talk at home - or, I suppose _your_ home, since mine is apparently  _gone_ -” As he turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, reaching the entrance to the first floor lobby, Tobirama had just a moment to curse the chakra seals placed within the hospital’s structure - meant to hide chakra signatures, to protect weakened civilians and shinobi - before the familiar wave of sharp-red-heat had him reaching for his weapons.

And Madara had the fucking _audacity_ to looked shocked to see him.

“ _You_!” Tobirama snarled, dropping into a defensive stance in the doorway. Great. He had no weapons. On top of that, his sensory skills were impaired here and his chakra stores were still recovering. But he was faster than the Uchiha, more agile. If he could lure him into a hallway, take advantage of the narrow spacing-

Hashirama pshed passed him an instant later, blocking Tobirama’s view of the curiously befuddled Uchiuha with a broad chest. His voice was much more stern when he spoke. “Tobiram, we need to talk.”

Tobirama’s not sure why he’s surprised at his brother’s reaction. He should be used to the man defending Madara by now. Still, the sting of hurt has him quickly redirecting his anger. “You’re going to protect _him_?”

“Look, I know you’re confused, I get that. Let’s just-”

“ _Confused_? How about _furious_. You’re really going to defend him.”

“Tobira-”

“Have you forgotten what he’s done? What he’s put us through, put _you_ through?” He was near hissing at that point, red eyes narrowed and dark, not moving from his defensive position.

Passed Hashirama, Madara was still leaning on the front desk, a look of pure bewilderment on his face. In his shock, the papers he had been filling out were left forgotten. “Is that really…?” His muttered questioning went ignored by the two bickering Senju, but he was still too dazed to notice he’d said anything.

“I know this is going to be hard to understand,” Hashirama tried again, putting his hands up in a placating gesture, “but we’re at peace now.”

Tobirama snorted. “Peace, with him? For how long this time?”

“I know you never believed it could happen, but it did, it’s real. And if you could just give me a _chance_ -”

“Is that what this was all about?” Tobirama’s voice was low now, near a whisper. That was what had come between them? What had festered and rotted their relationship until it was nothing?

He blamed _Tobirama_?

“You think it was my fault he left, don’t you?”

Dropping his hands, Hashirama’s face soften back in his concern, tone polite and edging back on professional. “Who left, Tobira?”

Having finally broken out of his shock, Madara approached the two of them cautiously, coal eyes focused on the albino even as he addressed Hashirama. “He survived? Why wasn’t I told about this?” Somehow, he managed to sound only a little offended by the implication.

“Not now, Madara. He’s confused, I just-” Hashirama ran a hand through his hair, clearly more frazzled than he had been letting on. He huffed a breath through his nose, turning back to his brother, tone instantly losing the frustrated edge. “Tobira, I promise to answer all of your questions, but for now you’re just going to have to trust me.”

“I trusted you before, and look where it got us,” Tobirama snapped, feeling more on edge by the minute. How was he honestly expected to believe Madara wouldn’t betray them?

If the look of sheer guilt and hurt on Hashirama’s face wasn’t enough to give the younger Senju pause, the full bodied recoil that accompanied it definitely was. He finally stood up straight, not feeling at all proud of making his brother flinch away from him - even if they hadn’t been getting along before he’d disappeared, he didn’t want to put any more distance between them.

Madara cut in then, standing just behind his best friend, rage flowing out of him in waves as he snarled. “Don’t blame him for your own stubborn mistakes, _Senju_.”

“Madara, please.” At his friend’s quiet tone, the Uchiha huffed and backed off, but not without a patented Uchiha GlareTM  thrown at the _white demon_ who dared to insult his idiot.

Grinding his teeth to bite back a retort, Tobirama pointedly turned away from the traitor, glaring at his brother expectantly. “Start explaining.”

The brunet took a moment then, breathing deeply before remembering where they were, glancing around them quickly. There were at least a dozen pairs of eyes trained on them, some more subtle than others, and some unabashedly gawking at the three men bickering in the middle of the public hospital. Most of them quickly busied themselves after matching glares from both the Uchiha and the younger Senju brother.

“Not here?” Hashirama’s voice was notably more quiet now.

After a moment to calm himself, Tobirama nodded in agreement. Hashirama leaned forward a little then, arms relaxing back at his side, a hesitant smile touching his lips. “I still have one of your hiraishin kunai at home. I know you just woke up from your injury, but it might be easier that way…”

“Don’t think you’re getting out of explaining yourself, Hashirama.” The Uchiha crossed his arms over his chest, his usual scowl back on his face. At the moment, he resembled more of a petulant child to Tobirama than an imposing warrior.

A thought struck him without permission then, and he wondered if no one had ever warned a young Madara that his face might get stuck like that. He chalked the ridiculous thought up to stress and left it at that. Besides, facial expressions couldn’t cause permanent change in one’s facial structure. That was just something Touka and his mother had been teasing him about.

Right?

Tobirama frowned thoughtfully, crossing his arms. Perhaps, if one were to hold an expression for long enough…

“I’m not sure I have one, but I’ll come talk to you later.” Hashirama’s smile was a little wider now, more genuine, relief written in the slump of his shoulders.

Shaking thoughts of muscular changes over long periods of time out of his head, Tobirama grabbed his brother’s arm. He didn’t wait for the Uchiha to respond, having had quite enough of him talking already, and flickered them home quickly. They landed amidst splintered wood fragments, this time blessedly upright, pieces of a table and chairs scattered around them. Tobirama took note of the dried blood stain just off to one side of the mess, marking where he’d passed out.

Nudging a chair leg with his foot, Tobirama pursed his lips, remembering how tired his brother had looked. He must have spent the entire time in the hospital with him, especially considering he was still in his ‘civilian clothes.’ He chose to not comment on that, chewing on the pang of both guilt and gratitude.

“You haven’t cleaned up yet. How long was I in the hospital?”

“A few days? Today made three.” Hashirama stood off to the side awkwardly, shifting his weight between his legs. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, now that they were home. “Do you- are you thirsty? Hungry? I could always…” He trailed off, hopelessly waving an arm towards the kitchen.

Even now, after the single most confusing and frustrating hour of his life, Tobirama couldn’t help but find his brother’s awkwardness a little endearing. He ignored the urge to chuckle fondly, however, kicking another piece of wood. He was still angry at the damn things for messing with his memory. How far had he traveled with his hiraishin? Which version had he used? “I’m fine, Anija. Stop fretting.”

“I’m sorry, I just-” His voice was a little hoarse, emotion thick in his throat as he exhaled sharply. “I missed you.”

Tobirama’s interest in the art on the wall had absolutely nothing to do with the sudden lump in his throat, nor anything to do with the tight feeling in his chest. The kanji for ‘Peace’ and ‘Hope’ hung across from the seating area, beautiful calligraphy in thick, black ink. Very interesting. Very Hashirama.

“Well, I’m here now, so you don’t have to miss me.” Writing so big must be difficult. How do they taper the ink so well anyway?

A chocked sob tore itself out of Hashirama. Even focused on the ever so interesting artwork as he was, Tobirama could see him trying to stop the tears, rubbing at his face with his sleeves, reminiscent of an overwhelmed child.

The image of a younger, much smaller Hashirama doing that exact thing over two small graves had Tobirama’s own throat tightening, and he was ever grateful that his brother had yet to assault him with his affection. Though the fact that he hadn’t was odd. He decided it best to count his blessings and not question it.

Clearing his throat, and ignoring the threatening bit of wet at the corner of his eyes, Tobirama changed the topic. “I like what you’ve done with the place.” Actually taking the time to look around, he took note of a few additions. The hanging calligraphy was one, of course, as was the sprawling plant in one corner that was taking up a rather concerning amount of space.

Though, now that he was paying attention, it was less that there were new additions, and more that quite a bit was missing. There was no bookshelf on the far wall, nor the gaudy pink love seat his brother insisted on purchasing shortly after his wedding. The house felt rather empty.

“Well, it’s just me, and I don’t really need all that much.”

Not having realized he’d said that last bit out loud, Tobirama turned back to his brother. He saw that the man was doing his best to collect himself, unsuccessfully trying to smile past his tears. It resembled a grimace more than anything, a look that was completely out of place on Hashirama’s face.

“You can get comfortable.” He gestured at the sofa, sniffing pitifully. “I’m just gonna- I’d like some tea. I’ll bring you some, okay?”

Knowing he wouldn’t be any help anyway, Tobirama didn’t try to stop his brother. He was awful with comforting people; if Hashirama needed to step back for a moment, he’d let him. Instead, he settled himself into the tan cushions, swallowing his own emotions down. He glared at the scattered wood fragments once more, blaming the entire mess on them.

He was definitely going to enjoy burning those later.

 

* * *

 

Hashirama took his time, setting the kettle up to boil and looking through his tea cabinet. Caffeine was necessarily, so his fruit and berry teas were out of the question. Blinking to clear his vision a little more, he rummaged through his bagged tea collection; he wasn’t in the right mindset to make his own today, and forewent the dried herbs and flowers he kept from his garden.

Tea had always been his way of calming down. Brewing it, drinking it, creating new combinations from his herb gardens; the entire experience had always been his time, his moments away from it all. He was glad for the habit now, finding it much easier to breathe normally after steeping and fixing up the two cups.

By the time he reappeared with their respective drinks, Tobirama had calmed as well, resting in one corner of the sofa. Hashirama settled himself into the other corner, passing him his drink and putting a plate of wabari mochi down between them - shooting a forlorn look at the mess that was once his table.

He didn’t talk right away, taking a moment longer to enjoy the peace between them. Holding his cup close to his face, he inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of green tea and roses. When he finally turned to Tobirama, it was with a soft smile. “This was Mom’s favourite. Did you know that?” He rested his cup in his lap, a small huff of laughter out of his nose.

“I’m honestly not sure where to start…”

As much as Hashirama excelled at talking to people, his natural charisma bowling over any opposition, he was horrible at story telling. His tendency to speak in circles and tangents did him no favors, nor did his rabbit hole logic. Tobirama counted it a blessing that he got to choose the starting point this time, sipping lightly at his chai. “Start from when I left.”

“Well, we had a funeral, and then I started-”

“Immediately?” Tobirama scowled at him, a little hurt at the thought. Did they not wait to see if he’d return? Did they give him up for dead so easily?

Shrinking away from the accusation, Hashirama fiddled with his cup, staring at his feet. “Would you have preferred a more traditional funeral, like we did for father?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off his headache, Tobirama waved his brother on. The oaf was clearly missing the point; he could always bring the issue back up later. Or never. Touka could help with him with revenge.

“After the…funeral, I was able to convince most of the elders to finally listen to me, since you weren’t there to-” Hashirama cut himself off, shooting a tight look at his brother before continuing, “We managed a peace treaty shortly after that. Well, just a cease fire at first, but,” he shrugged, taking another long sip of his tea.

Before he could continue with his train wreck of an explanation, Tobirama cut in. “I don’t need a history refresher, Anija. For now, just tell me what that Uchiha is doing here.” Somehow, Hashirama had managed to get exponentially worse at explaining things, seeing as he wasn’t even bothering to go in chronological order.

Despite the deep frown that marred his face, Hashirama’s tone was as patient as ever as he continued. “That’s what I’m trying to explain, Tobira. We have a treaty. We’re at peace.”

“And that’s all well and good,” Tobirama said, trying his hardest to keep his patience reeled in as well. It honestly felt like he was talking to a child who didn’t understand one bit what was being asked of them. He could handle ignorant children if he had to. This, however, was a test from the kami for sure. “But that doesn’t explain why he was allowed back.”

“Back?” The brunet glanced over at Tobirama in confusion. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. He’s allowed here because we’re-”

“At peace, yes, I know.” The gentle tone was starting to grate on his nerves; Hashirama used that tone with confused or disoriented patients, making sure to speak slowly enough for them to follow. Right now, it sounded more patronizing than anything, something Tobirama was not appreciating in the slightest. “But, and correct me if I’m wrong, _he broke that peace_. Threw it in your face, Anija. _Why is he here_?”

Hashirama took a deep breath, frustration written on his face. He ran a hand through his long hair, studying the ends between his fingertips. His voice was still calm when he spoke. “We weren’t at peace back then, not really. And he didn’t break anything anyway. It was our fathers - they wanted us to fight, we didn’t want to-”

“Anija, _what_ are you talking about? Father wasn’t even alive…” Tobirama hissed out a breath of his own frustration. They weren’t even discussing the same thing. What, exactly, had he done to deserve this again? “Are you really going on about that? I’m not talking about when you were _children_ , playing at peace.”

“Then what _are_ you talking about?” Hashirama’s expression pinched together in utter befuddlement. It was a good thing Tobirama was a paragon of self-control, because all he wanted to do at the moment was slap that look away.

“When he left Konoha in a fit, screaming about how your version of peace wasn’t real. The man’s worse than a toddler.” He added the last bit in a huff, drinking from his already chilled tea.

The slip back into calm professionalism would have been impressive if not for that damned smile. He knew that smile - it was the one Hashirama gave to his particularly hysterical patients, the ones who he didn’t believe knew their own names. Tobirama hated that look.

“Tobira, you hit your head pretty hard. Maybe we can talk about this tomorrow? You could use the rest.”

“Stop patronizing me,” Tobirama snapped. He was tired of being treated like a fragile patient. He was a grown man, a veteran warrior, not some sniveling child _sage damnit_. “Just tell me why you let him come back, after he betrayed all of Konoha, betrayed _you_.”

Opening his mouth to respond, something seemed to dawn on Hashirama, causing him to pause. A puzzled look crossed his face, and he tilted his head to meet his brother’s eyes. “How do you know about Konoha?”

To say Tobirama was exasperated would be a severe understatement, and he honestly worried for his sanity at this point. “What do you even mean by that? How could I not?”

“Have you been alive _this whole time_?” Hashirama’s voice was only a whisper, pain and confusion thick therein.

Tobirama wasn’t sure how, but the situation was getting more confusing by the moment. “How else would I be here now?”

Leaning forward, Hashirama covered his face with his hands and went quiet. Several minutes passed like that. Though Tobirama wanted everything clarified more than ever, it was clear his brother didn’t know how to process any of this. Neither of them knew how to handle each other at the moment.

When he finally leaned back and responded, Hashirama didn’t look any less of a wreck. “I’m not sure, Tobira. Kami, I just- _you died_. We buried you, _I_ buried you, right next to Itama and-” He shuddered out a breath, shaking his head.

“I thought about bringing you with, after we moved here.” He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, voice soft and full of anguish. “But I didn’t wanna cremate you, couldn’t do that to you.”

“After we moved here,” Tobirama echoed slowly.

Hashirama nodded. “When the clan moved to Konoha, after the peace treaty.”

There was ice in Tobirama’s veins. The way his brother was talking, it sounded like… “When, exactly, did I die?”

His brother finally looked at him, grief thick in his voice. “Back during the war. I didn’t know you had been injured, you didn’t tell- well, you got sick. An infection, a bad one. By the time I found you…” He took a deep breath, blinking rapidly. “Tobira, _I’m sorry_. I should have done more to convince you, should have checked on you sooner, made you talk to me. I know we weren’t close, and you didn’t believe in any of this, but I should have _tried_ , I-” He barely chocked back a sob, shoulders shaking from the effort.

Tobirama sat quiet, the words washing over him, near white static at that point.

He died in the war?

It made no sense - none of what Hashirama was saying was true. He had helped write the peace treaty, had been one of Konoha’s key founders. Granted, he hadn’t believed the Uchiha would ever agree to peace with Madara leading them, but he had been proved wrong. Had admitted it, in private. Probably. At least once. Hell, he’d even taken an Uchiha as a student - was more than proud to be Kagami’s sensei.

It made no logical sense for Hashirama to forget any of this - that he honestly believed - and there was no doubt in Tobirama’s mind that his brother did believe it - any of what he was saying.

“Anija,” Tobirama started slowly, still mulling over the storm that was his thoughts. “I didn’t die in the war. Your timeline’s all wrong. I was here for years before, well,” he waved a hand in gesture towards the furniture he’d destroyed. “It was just a jutsu mishap, the hiraishin didn’t work properly.”

Hashirama opened his mouth, only to close it again, scrunching his nose up as he pursed his lips. “That’s not- Tobira, I buried you. I was there when you stopped…” He shook his head, taking a deep breath. “ _I saw you die_. How are you _alive_?”

Tobirama looked away from his brother to stare at the opposite wall, sharing his confusion for a completely different reason. None of this made any sense - he was in Konoha, but something was off, so many things were just _wrong_. And Hashirama seemed so certain, convinced, that he had died long before the village had even been founded.

On a whim, desperate for any proof, Tobirama stretched his senses out. He had placed hiraishin seals all throughout Konoha - even if his house, lab, and office were all gone or destroyed, there were still at least a dozen seals in different locations. Not just the obvious ones in the hokage tower or at the village gates either - there were a few he’d told no one about. The chances of them being found and tampered with were next to zero.

Under the constant hum of life, of thousands of different chakra signatures all burning hot, he found the spark of his anchors. He focused and followed the threads to their source.

A single bright anchor stood alone within the whole of Konoha, the source sitting only a few feet away in front of him.

As he tried desperately to remember the exact version of the hiraishin he had tested, his eyes wide, breath caught in his chest, one single question forced its way to the forefront of the chaos in his mind:

What had he _done_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wabari mochi - Mochi, a stocky sweet, that’s been dipped in kinako, which is roasted soy flour. It’s fucking delicious, and popular in the summer. 
> 
> Head canon: Cremation is the standard of most clans, as they keep the ashes in their family shrines. The Senju clan, however, refuse to cremate their dead. Since their main enemy for the past few centuries has been the Uchiha, who are mainly fire users, the Senju don't like fire and consider it disrespectful to burn the dead.
> 
> On the tradition funeral Hashirama mentioned: I was going off one of the Buddhist rituals here, where the family would traditionally hold ceremonies/prayers on third, seventh, and forty-ninth days after the death.
> 
> Though I've already made it clear that this is a new universe, I didn't want to just gloss over Tobirama's dealings with all of this. I see him as someone who studies more of the tangible sciences than the social and theoretical ones, so he wouldn't know anything about the multi-verse theory, or anything like it really.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter! The feedback meant so much to me~~ As always, questions/comments are both welcomed and greatly appreciated :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama figures out he's not in Kansas anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True facts: A group of Nara is called a bother.
> 
> The plan is to update this every Saturday. Also, my fucking god, this chapter got too damn long.

As with the vast majority of his problems, Tobirama chose to solve his current dilemma with research. He first went to Konoha’s public library, burying himself into the limited books found there. Much to his irritation, and embarrassment, he was forced to use his brother’s position within the village to access the restricted sections. The chunin on guard duty hadn’t seemed to recognize him, nor had the woman at the front desk. Or the head librarian. It irked him greatly, being denied access to information he usually had no issues whatsoever going through, but he managed to convince them of who he was with most of his dignity still intact.

Despite his knowledge of varying subjects, it was difficult to decide where to begin. Even with the amount of shinobi clans the village had collected, their sections on sealing were practically bare, and what they did have was rudimentary at best. Without any helpful sources on that matter, Tobirama worked his way through the sciences instead, as well as the limited sections on ninjutsu, skimming through hundreds of scrolls in the span of a week. He practically camped out at the library during that time, only venturing away when he absolutely had to eat, ignoring the nagging workers who suggested he should leave for closing hours.

For once in his life, however, his sciences were failing him. Even the Senju private collections had nothing of use to him.

He loathed how small his clan’s library seemed now. Many of the books he himself had collected were missing - if Hashirama were to be believed, it would be because he had died, had been unable to collect them in the past few years. At the moment, Tobirama was more upset about the missing first edition texts than the idiotic notion that he’d died.

After two full weeks of living in the libraries for naught, Tobirama finally caved and admitted defeat. The quantifiable, tangible sciences he adored were of no help to him; he would have to find another topic to research if he wanted any answers.

It was with that though he found himself at the local marked, the midday crowd bustling around him as he browsed through the seasonal fruits and dried nuts. An older Hatake woman was selling fresh blueberries, her silver hair matching the white of one blind eye. He handed over his coins, waving politely at the small girl clinging to the woman’s leg before heading towards another stall.

With his small wicker basket, an insisted-upon gift from the Hatake woman, thrust into his hands with a scolding finger about trying to deny his elders their wishes, and his bounty of apples, blueberries, and imported nuts, he made his way to the outskirts of Konoha.

As he neared the entrance to the Nara compound, thick trees replaced his view of wood roofs and buildings. The forest itself was off to his left, but a small gathering of deer had ventured further towards the gate, surrounding an older man along with a flock of tree sparrows. Once the deer noticed him, however, they were quick to loop back towards the safety of the Nara forest, only one brave doe staying just at the edge of the tree line.

The Nara pushed himself up out of his crouch, grayed eyes squinting behind likewise grayed hair as Tobirama stopped in front of him. The Senju held out his tributes, clarifying as the man peered into the basket, “For the deer.” The man grunted and took them before nodding towards the compound.

“Know where you’re going?”

Humming his answer, Tobirama nodded, watching the doe cautiously approaching them. A small buck, not yet fully grown, was following behind now. They were clearly smart enough to know when food was about. “Is Koshika-san home?”

“Shika-san?” The man scratched at the back of his head, looking up to the position of the sun. His long hair swayed as he tilted his head back and forth in his search. “Should be. Haven’t seen her leave.”

Tobirama gave the man his thanks, heading into the compound towards the center. He had never visited the Nara head household, but knew the location still; the full days spent yelling over district placements still left him with nightmares, filled with maps and stubborn clan heads and far too much whinging.

Much to his relief, the Nara matriarch was indeed home. He wasn’t yet up the steps to their porch when the woman came out to greet him, all spiked hair and sharp eyes and very, very short.

He made a mental note to not call her Koshika to her face, remembering too painfully well how she took any reminder of her height.

“Senju Tobirama, yeah?” she drawled, looking him over with deceptively glazed eyes. At his nod, she continued. “What do you need from us?”

“I’d like to request access to the Nara private library.”

“Our library?” She stared off away from him, absently scratching a scar marring her left cheek. “The Senju not have one of those?”

“We do,” he admitted with a nod, “but it doesn’t have what I’m looking for.”

Koshika took a moment to think, studying the sun-bleached porch railings, running a hand over the paling wood. After a minute of quiet pondering, she turned back to her guest, answering with a lazy shrug of one shoulder. “Don’t see why not. Gotta ask Toshi first.”

“Of course.” He waited for her to step back inside, following her through the house, admiring the traditional style within.

Having dealt with the Nara clan previously, he had expected as much. As their clan had joint heads, both Koshika and Toshi ruling as equals, one alone couldn’t make any significant decisions. He wasn’t entirely sure what they qualified as ‘significant,’ had never bothered to ask really, but the system seemed to work well enough.

They found Toshi in a side room of the house, shouji slid open to the outdoors. He was leaning his elbows on an empty table, resting his chin in one palm, watching the persimmon trees in the garden sway in the mid-summer breeze.

Toshi was a man of few words, difficult to anger and rarely one to cause any issues. Tobirama was of the belief that he agreed so readily to basically anything because he didn’t have the energy to waste on disagreements or arguing. Most would call the Nara - as a whole, really - lazy; Tobirama liked to affectionately refer to them as “energy efficient.”

At the grunted out “no” to his request, however, he wasn’t feeling particularly affectionate anymore.

Employing his years of political training and utilizing his best diplomatic skills, somehow the Senju heir managed to find a polite, inoffensive way to bite out “why the fuck not” with minimal eye twitching. And perhaps in not as many words. He should have probably slept before coming here; running on little sleep was known to dampen his already pitiful social skills.

Flopping an arm in gesture, sage knows at what, Toshi grunted out the word “private,” all the while not taking his eyes off the trees rustling outside.

Without a single word to her husband or guest, Koshika meandered back out of the room, sliding the bamboo frame shut behind her. Tobirama stared after her for a moment, left standing awkwardly in the middle of the rather bare room, frowning.

Assuming he’d been left to his own devices, and hardly wanting to overstay his welcome, Tobirama turned to bid Toshi goodbye - only to find the man had somehow managed to set up an entire game of shogi without his knowledge. The Nara nodded at the chair across from him, eyes already focused on the board as he tapped a piece on the edge of the table.

Tobirama honestly hadn’t planned to be here this long. Somehow, he’d forgotten how the Nara loved to draw out everything from official meetings to simple house visits. All the same, he knew it was best not to insult the man by saying no. Shogi wasn’t exactly his game of choice, but he was decent at it. He settled himself into the cushioned chair, running through the games he’d played against Koshika in his head to form a strategy; he’d never played against Toshi before, a shame really, but his wife had been a formidable opponent.

Several hours later, Koshika found the two men deep in concentration, in the middle of their second game. The first had been in Tobirama’s favor - though that had been expected. Black was statistically more likely to win, and he could tell the Nara had been going easy on him, not expecting a challenge.

Now, however, those black eyes were sharp with focus, watching his every move intently, reading into his reactions to each move. Though Tobirama’s chances of winning were getting slimmer by the minute, he had no plans of losing; he was known for striking at the last possible second, luring his opponents into thinking him weakened on the battlefield.

Just as Tobirama placed his next piece down with a snap, the Nara matriarch meandered back into the room, leaving the shouji open behind her. There was an elderly man gripping her arm - Tobirama recognized him as the one he’d greeted at the gate earlier - and she led him to a wooden dresser in the corner, which he leaned on as they waited.

They were joined shortly afterward by two more Nara: a teen boy he didn’t know, as well as a middle-aged woman he’d met before. Yasu had been quite vocal about the lack of daycare services despite no longer being an active-duty shinobi, insisting on Konoha taking better care of her fellow single parents.

She became known and feared in the council for her quick wit and fierce tongue lashings. Tobirama had enjoyed her presence there greatly.

As the last of them filed into the room, with Yasu leaning against the wall to prop up her prosthetic leg, Koshika patted the elder man’s arm before turning to Tobirama. As he stared questioningly at the newest guests, she shrugged. “Advisers. Tie breakers, for your request.”

Though a little shocked he still had a chance, Tobirama stood up - ignoring Toshi’s groan as the Nara slumped forward onto the table, dejected at the pause in their game - and bowed his head in thanks. “May I ask what you’ve decided then?”

Koshika blinked at him, letting her head flop to one side as she scratched her hair. “Decided?”

The elderly man spoke up with a huff. “We haven’t decided yet.”

Tobirama did his best not to roll his eyes through his frustration. Or glare. Or pinch his nose. Or anything really.

Yasu crossed her arms over her chest, watching him with sharp eyes. Her auburn hair lay like fire over one shoulder. “It’s a private library for a reason, Senju-san. There’s a lot to consider. We’ll have your answer by the end of the week.”

With an unimpressed roll of his shoulders, the teen boy added a mumbled “maybe” before continuing to stare at the ceiling.

After that, the matter was apparently settled, and Yasu made her way over to Koshika. She helped lead the elder back out of the room, followed by the boy, and Tobirama was once again alone with the Nara heads.

He wasn’t entirely certain whether to count today as positive or not, but Tobirama was certainly going to end his evening on a high note. That being decided, he turned back to his shogi game, only to groan at his luck. Toshi had fallen asleep, his head pillowed on his arms, long hair covering his face.

“We won’t move the game. You two can finish it when you come back.” Moving passed him, Koshika closed the outer shouji, shutting out the view of the garden and darkening sky.

Though he appreciated the sentiment, Tobirama waved the offer away. “There’s no need. I’d hate for someone to miss out on a game waiting for me.”

Koshika stared at him for a moment, processing what he had just said, before waving her hand and stretching out her shadow. With a flick of her wrist, the wooden cabinet in the corner opened. It was filled to the brim with different shogi boards and pieces, all neatly stacked and ordered.

Tobirama was honestly not sure what else he could’ve expected from the Nara. He made sure to thank Koshika for her time before letting himself out. Taking the long way home, he made sure to stretch out his sore neck and leg muscles, beyond relieved to have nothing else to do for the day.

By the time he made it to the Senju district, the sun had just finished setting. A quick dinner of rice and ayu fish, and Tobirama was ready for bed, heading to the guest room he had commandeered for his stay. It was a bit early for him, seeing as Hashirama hadn’t even returned for the night, but the general atmosphere of the Nara district was enough to have him flopping down on his futon with little ceremony. The house was blessedly quiet, and he just wanted to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Even knowing both of them were early risers, Hashirama was legitimately surprised to find Tobirama seated at the kitchen table the next morning, one long leg tucked underneath him. His surprise quickly turned to relief, tension leaking out of his shoulders and a tentative smile creasing the corners of his eyes.

Tobirama hadn’t planned to stick around. He didn’t actually have anywhere to be for the time being, but he was reluctant to be here all the same. Seeing the hopeful glean in his brother’s eyes kept him seated; perhaps his presence wouldn’t be too much of a bother, for one morning at least.

“Have you eaten yet?” Hashirama was still in his simple sleeping yukata, the tan coloring faded from age. Though Tobirama was already dressed for the day, he shook his head. He had been content enough with his instant coffee so far, distracted as he was with his crossword puzzle.

Well, content was a strong word. He grimaced at the bitter bean juice. His funds weren’t exactly low, but he had no source of income at the moment - and Hashirama loathed the taste of coffee, whined loudly about how ‘yucky’ it was. Tobirama more of settled for this lesser version, fighting through the gritty powder all for the sake of his caffeine addiction.

Hashirama was soon cooking up a storm behind him, humming some nonsensical tune as he went. Tobirama knew from experience there would be a mountain of a mess to clean up after. Even when he cooked for one, the man used far too many dishes. He let him work anyway, scratching away at his puzzle until he found himself stumped. Flowers were hardly his area of expertise. He tapped his quill against the book; luckily for him, he lived with a dryad.

Well, perhaps not dryad. He was sure there was a male term for that type of spirit. Drus, was it?

“The holy flower of love,” Tobirama mused as way of question, glancing at his brother who was setting the table with his bounty. The brunet was surely no kodama, that was for certain. He was far too noisy, and no where near cute enough. Though, he did have a streak of mischievousness in him when they were younger.

The brunet didn’t miss a beat with his answer, as expected. “Cyclamen. The Yamanaka say they’re extremely popular with the civilians, though they’re a bit expensive. It’s not blooming season anymore, but I’ve got a few hanging outside.”

“Of course you do.” Tobirama wasn’t paying attention to his own words, focusing instead on the feast his brother was piling in front of them. Rice, sweet eggs, grilled kabocha and fish, steamed vegetables. The kabocha must have been planted early, seeing as the squash harvest wasn’t typically started until late summer. Beyond that oddity, the sheer amount of food steaming between the siblings was enough to shoot his eyebrows up.

“Are you expecting company?” Tobirama turned towards his brother, a little wary of who might be coming over. He had a bad habit of befriending people the albino found insufferable, and it was far too early for such invaders in his territory.

His brother flushed, scratching the back of his head, refusing to meet Tobirama’s eyes as he handed him his rice bowl and chopsticks. “I don’t usually have company at breakfast.”

Tobirama pursed his lips but let the non-answer slid, helping himself to the food. He himself was more of a grazer in the morning, finding it difficult to stomach much food that early. Even with his brother gorging himself they’d have plenty of leftovers for lunch.

By the time his brother’s meaning hit him, they had nearly finished their breakfast in silence. Self-consciousness had him placing his chopsticks down gently, suddenly uneasy at the thought of eating.

Right. _Tobirama_ was the unusual company. And didn’t that make him feel wonderful.

He fidgeted a bit, guiltily digging one toe into the chair’s cushion. He’d certainly been busy with his research, practically living at different libraries because of it. But he’d wanted to give the older man space, spending his spare time on training and roaming the parks. Had that not been what Hashirama wanted?

Said man saved Tobirama from his regretful brooding, speaking over the rim of his morning tea. From the smell, it was an apple spice blend, splashed with a hint of milk. The lack caffeine was a bit disturbing, but his brother had always been an odd one to put it mildly.

“You’ve been busy. I haven’t seen you much.”

Scratch that. He wasn’t saving him from his guilt; he was apparently throwing more on top of the towering pile with those big, watery eyes.

Focusing back on his crossword, Tobirama simply hummed in reply, determined to not show how horrid he was starting to feel. It was hardly his fault fault anyway. How was he supposed to know his brother was lonely?

Hashirama fiddled with the end of his chopsticks, chewing the food off of one tip. Their mother had scolded him about the habit since he could hold them, but he’d never managed to break it. It was more of a nervous tick nowadays than anything else.

“What’ve you been up to?”

“Research.” A flavoring derived from an orchid…

A short pause, then a hesitant, “On what?”

Scratching out the word ‘vanilla,’ Tobirama didn’t so much as glance up at his question. “Trying to figure out what went wrong.” It was a shame those orchids weren’t native to Fire Country; it might be considered bland, but the light flavor was one of his favorites in desserts and teas.

As the silence grew pregnant between them, Tobirama finally peeked back up at his brother. He was met with owlish blinking, the brunet having paused mid-chew, bewildered. Tobirama just rolled his eyes at his foolishness, setting his quill down on his book to keep the ink from staining the wood table.

“My hiraishin are all missing or destroyed, even the ones no one besides myself could have possibly known about. Something went wrong, something _changed_ , and I’m trying to figure out _what_.”

“Well, you’re alive. That’s different.” Hashirama attempted to keep his tone light, conversational, as he went back to his breakfast. It didn’t fool either of them.

“We’ve been over this.” Keeping his own tone neutral, Tobirama finished off the rest of his fish, moving on to the last bits of rice in his bowl.

His brother had that sympathetic look on his face again, tone anti-confrontational and soft. “Tobira, even minor concussions can cause major memory issues. And we still don’t even know what brought you back! There’s no way to know all the possible side effects…”

Red eyes hardened in irritation. The albino did his best not to hurl his frustration at his brother, but couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. “This isn’t about my memories, Anija. I don’t have amnesia. I’m not sure what is going on, but I _know_ it’s not that.”

Pressing his lips thin, Hashirama stared down at the table cloth, tracing the gaudy pastel petals with his index finger. He seemed to be debating with himself, but whatever was holding him back lost to his concern in the end. “Your brain’s just filling in the blanks with what makes the most sense. Of course it feels right - but it’s not real. Just give it time. Even if you never remember, it’ll get easier.”

Tobirama placed his bowl down harder than necessary, causing brown eyes to snap back up at him. He jabbed a finger at his brother, tone snappish and sharp. “I’m not filling in the blanks with what makes sense. I’m telling you right now that I helped found this damn village. I was a council member, an adviser to the hokage, and one of the primary diplomatic figures. I created anbu, outlined the majority of the academy’s courses, and even personally interviewed each and every candidate for the positions there. I even took over as hokage when you were too busy pining after your runaway house pet!”

With a curious tilt of his head, Hashirama dared to ask, “House pet?”

Slumping back into his chair with an indignant huff, Tobirama grumbled back at him. “Some people keep hedgehogs. He looks enough like one.”

Hashirama crinkled his nose at the insult, but decided to let it go. He wasn’t up to a repeated argument over Madara just quite yet. Instead, he focused in on one possible theory, doing his best to cater to Tobirama’s logical side. “You don’t remember where you were before this. Maybe you heard about the village before popping back here?”

Having had enough of this argument already, Tobirama started ticking off his points with his hands - information he wouldn’t have access to without a high position within the village. Well, unless he had a wide network of spies, but his brother was an idiot and wouldn’t consider that possibility. Hopefully.

“The Yamanaka have brought up a request for funding at every single budget meeting, wanting potted flowers and trees throughout the streets - to be payed for by tax dollars.”

Before he could continue, Hashirama pipped up. “It’s actually a nice idea. If the civilians saw shinobi planting and caring for flowers, we’d seem much more approachable. And it would be a nice starter mission for genin!”

If he was hoping to distract Tobirama with his bright smile, it wasn’t working. He simply leveled the ridiculous man with a serious look before continuing with his points. “Hyuuga Rin refuses to allow Konoha any input on their juinjutsu situation, mainly because the council would veto it in a heartbeat. She does plan to make the seals only activate upon death, but has so far been outvoted on that issue by the main branch.”

At the rather vacant look in Hashirama’s eyes, he could tell he’d lost him entirely. With a twitch of one eye, he breathed in deeply through his nose. Patience. “What, exactly, do you need clarification on?”

“All of it?” Hashirama propped one elbow up, flopping his chin into his palm. “Rin’s the Hyuuga clan head, right? And what’s with the juinjutsu anyway?”

Running a hand through white hair, Tobirama frowned, studying the ends that fell into his eyes. “Have you never met her? She’s been the clan head for nearly a decade, and she’s quite vocal about the situation. It’s been mentioned at several council meetings.”

Hashirama shook his head. “We’ve talked through letters, but never in person. We’ve been trying to get the Hyuuga to join Konoha, but between their bad blood with the Uchiha and their recent scuffles with the Aburame…” He pouted, poking at the tablecloth again with his chopsticks. “They keep saying no.”

“The Hyuuga aren’t here?” At the sullen head shake, Tobirama hummed thoughtfully. It would explain why he’d not seen any around, though it wasn’t like he’d gone looking for any. Another tally then - the clan had been one of the first to join Konoha, right after the Hatake if he remembered correctly. Which, he usually did.

They fell into another silence then, Tobirama left to ponder the Hyuuga situation while Hashirama sulked at the same. It was no surprise that Hashirama was the one to break the quiet, switching easily to sulk at another target.

“I think you should spend less time on your research, Tobira.”

“You’ve always thought that,” he shot back. There was no heat in his tone; it was surprisingly easy to slip back into sibling banter, considering the years he’d gone without it.

Hashirama huffed a breath out of his nose, his voice edging on a whine. “I’m serious. You need to get out and do things, adjust, have fun - and you can’t do that hidden away in your dusty books.”

If it weren’t for the legitimate concern in those big eyes, Tobirama would have been tempted to throw his mug at his fat forehead. Actually, he still was. What was it about his brother that gave him such childish urges?

Probably the fact that he was, himself, a giant man child. A man child that lead a village of thousands and was considered a god among shinobi. The standards for kami were dropping to all-time lows apparently.

Instead of stooping to infantile behavior, Tobirama rubbed at his temples. Still, he acquiesced, figuring he didn’t honestly have much to lose. “I’ll take a few days, but that’s it. I’m busy.”

If Tobirama were to be honest, Hashirama’s brilliant and genuine smile was worth the headache starting to pick behind his eyes. He didn’t have to know he’d already planned the vacation, due to lacking research materials. He could have this victory at the very least.

 

* * *

 

Much to Tobirama’s surprise - and, though he’d never admit it, his delight - Hashirama had every intention of spending those few days with him. Of course, the younger man put up the appropriate amount of protest; he had an image to maintain after all. Besides, he was still hesitant to accept how normal this all felt: walking around Konoha’s crowded summer streets, stopping at yatai for yakitori, picnicking in the Senju district’s park, the relief he felt at his brother’s ridiculous snorts of laughter.

Even as he scowled at Hashirama’s morning pesters about where they’d be going, his heart ached. When had shared breakfasts become so rare an occasion they had to be cherished?

By the fifth day, the proud hokage had shown his baby brother all over the village, ignoring the insistent groaning about how he’d lived here for years, and _yes_ , he knew about the tea shop around the corner, and _no_ , he didn’t want to eat out again tonight.

They chose to picnic on the mountainside that afternoon, overlooking the city that shined in the midday sun. It was quiet and peaceful, only the barest of echoes from the streets below reaching them. Both brothers sipped on their lukewarm tea, enjoying the breeze after their light lunch was over.

The peace couldn’t late for long. Hashirama looked so content at the moment, face open and hopeful and so _happy_. Tobirama would be neglecting both his sibling right and duty to leave him like that.

“You are absolutely _not_ putting your face on this mountain.” There was just the right amount of bite to his tone, and he hid his smirk against his tea cup.

“Eh!?” The shock and confusion wasn’t exactly what he had expected. But, then again, Hashirama was convinced his brother hadn’t been around for the last few years. Tobirama would simply have to remind him of his opinion - the _correct_ opinion on the matter, mind.

He crossed his arms with a huff, schooling his expression. “No one wants your ugly mug watching them. They don’t want it now, and they certainly won’t want it a hundred years from now either.”

“Tobi,” Hashirama whined, a full-blown pout on his face. “Don’t be mean!” He sniffed for added effect, and it took all Tobirama had to not snort at the display.

When Hashirama realized his dramatics weren’t working, he turned his pout to Ultra Mode, his lower lip quivering while big brown eyes watered. “I’m not that ugly, am I?”

Tobirama refused to answer, choosing instead to pick at the lint collecting on his shirt. His brother continued the dramatics, and the whole while Tobirama was just barely able to bite back his grin.

The humorous air between them lingered for a while longer, Hashirama huffing loudly that he was being ignored. A summer breeze blew around them, rustling the leaves and giving a nice respite from the heat and humidity.

Hashirama leaned back on his palms, watching the clouds through the gaps in the trees above them. Light flickered across his face, his hair hanging back behind him.

“Why my face?”

“You’re the hokage. Who else?” Tobirama shrugged, looking back to the bright tiled roofs below them. If he focused, he could sense the whole of Kohona buzzing before him: office workers breaking for lunch, families busy with domestic life, children playing in the parks and playgrounds.

“It is the perfect spot to look out at the village isn’t it?” Tobirama hummed agreeably at his brother’s musing. The beaming smile sent his way was, however, quite concerning.

“You know, the hokage, as leader, should look out for everyone equally - civilians, shinobi, high born, orphans, guests. Everyone.”

Tobirama eyed him warily, uncertain where he was going with all of this. He nodded his agreement nonetheless.

“It’s probably difficult for some to feel that way, to remember that.” Hashirama was more musing out loud than anything else, absently growing a patch of dandelions around where he lazed back. “Especially the people who never get to _see_ their hokage.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Anija, _no_.”

“But it’s a really good idea!” The idiot was entirely too excited, leaning towards his brother with bright eyes filled with delight. “Everyone could be reminded of their hokage-”

“It’s a stupid, awful idea. Disgusting.

“-and I could watch over the village forever, Tobira, _it’s so poetic_!”

“Stop! It’s not happening!”

“Oh, I wish I had thought of it! I wonder who we could get to build it?” It had to hurt the imbecile to smile that wide - it was giving Tobirama a headache just from looking at it.

Tobirama paused then, quickly rewinding their conversation. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Do you know any good doton users? I mean, I could try to do it, but I’d be worried I’d mess it up.”

“You _did_ think of it. It was _your_ stupid idea in the first place.

Hashirama blinked over at him, cocking his head to one side. His hair hissed against the dandelions he’d grown, the weeds now reaching up to his chest from his excitement. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. I think it’s a wonderful idea though! We should find someone to do it! Do you think there are professional mountain carvers?”

The younger Senju groaned, slapping his face into his palms to block out the bright shinning oaf. Great. Now it was _his_ fault. He eyed the cliff edge through long fingers, giving serious consideration to throwing himself off of it. That would show them. No one would dare place a monument where the heir committed suicide to escape this utter buffoonery.

Unless they chose to put _his_ face up instead, in remembrance.

An even louder groan. He wouldn’t put it past Hashirama to do so, would honestly expect it, and not even death could keep him from that embarrassment.

“Don’t you have work to be doing? Running the village, the clan?” _Anything_ would be preferential to this torment.

“Nope! Well, I mean, yeah, but it’s all covered.”

Tobirama peeked over at him, and his face was most certainly _not_ pink from their awful, awful conversation. “Who’s covering for you?” It had always been Tobirama who picked up his brother’s slack, in respects to both the clan and his hokage duties. Who else would be qualified to work in his stead?

“Well, the elders have been pretty understanding ever since the village elected me, and especially in the last few weeks.” The sly glance his way told Tobirama exactly why they’d been so lenient, but he chose not to comment on it. “So they’ve been handling things themselves mostly. And Madara’s stepped in for me as hokage before, so he knows how to run the village pretty well by now.”

“Wait, _Madara’_ s currently hokage?” Tobirama’s voice did _not_ raise in pitch. Did not.

“Not really?” Hashirama picked one of his dandelions, holding it up to the sunlight. “He’s just the one sitting in the chair, wearing the hat, and doing all of the hokage’s duties.”

Tobirama stared at his unconcerned brother for a full minute before realizing his mouth was agape. He snapped it shut.

 _Madara_ , sitting behind the hokage’s desk. _Madara_ , dealing with the entire council on his own, having the final say in meetings. _Uchiha_. _Madara_. Signing paperwork that could quite literally make or break their relations with other clans, with each other, _and destroy their entire, brand-new village_.

“Nope. No. Not happening.” He shook his head viciously. Before Hashirama could say anything, Tobirama was crouching in front of him, jabbing him in the chest to drive his point home. “You’re going back to work tomorrow, and- no buts!” Hashirama snapped his own mouth shut, and Tobirama continued with narrowed eyes, “You’re going back before that man does any irreparable damage. Sage knows who he’s insulted and screamed away from us already.”

“He’s not that bad, Tobira. I honestly think you two could get along.”

Before he could comment on exactly how unlikely that was, seeing as it was never going to happen, not in a hundred years, not if Tobirama literally had no other options for company for the rest of his life - Hashirama flashed him an innocent grin, full of dreams and dripping sweetness. “You two have a lot in common, you know.”

And at the greatest insult anyone had ever hurled at him, Tobirama promptly flashed away, leaving his brother paradoxically stunned and loudly whining at his sudden disappearance. Tobirama most definitely did not spend the rest of the day sulking at the horribly inaccurate implication.

 

* * *

 

Seeing as the next morning was Saturday, Tobirama woke up extra early, gathering together some fruit he’d bought the evening before into a cloth bag. Yasu had said the Nara would have his answers by the weekend, even if the youngest among them had been skeptical. He wanted to get there as early as possible, to counteract how long the ordeal was sure to take.

The blind elder was at the gate once more, this time patting one of the deer he was feeding, grumbling. He stopped to speak with him a few moments, handing over the food he’d brought for the deer and snickering at the large buck that tried to rip the bag out of the older man’s hand. Apparently, Kou, as he introduced himself, was a non-shinobi member of the clan, and had appointed himself the duties of caring for the forest and “keeping all those brats in line.”

After leaving the old man to his self-proclaimed duties, he followed the cobble path back to the head household, managing to make it to the door and knock this time. It was Toshi who came out to greet him - well, if it could be called that. The Nara patriarch opened the front door and shuffled away with a loud yawn, not even shooting a glance towards his guest. Tobirama stalled awkwardly at the entrance for a minute before entering, making sure to remove his shoes and turn them the correct way before following after his host.

A pot of barley tea was waiting for them on the kitchen table, as well as a plate of dorayaki - though the other man seemed content enough without either of them. Toshi had pillowed his head into his arms, long spiked hair obscuring his face. Tobirama sat across from him and drank quietly, taking one of the sweets as to not be rude. The chestnuts were a pleasant surprise, so out of season; perhaps they had sealed some of last autumn’s nuts away?

He was already nibbling on his second dorayaki by the time Koshika joined them. As he turned to greet her, however, he was shocked to find his arms suddenly quite occupied by a squirming toddler. Both seemed equally surprised at the development, blinking at each other with wide eyes while the mother meandered through to the other exit of the kitchen, leaving with a jaw cracking yawn to do sage knows what.

After a few minutes of eagle-eying, the small girl seemed to deem the panicking albino at least decently acceptable. She reached out to pat one tattooed cheek with one chubby hand, allowing him to relax ever so slightly. Then she promptly slumped into his chest, sticky fingers clutching his shirt tightly as she drooled on him.

Toshi lifted his head up to stare thoughtfully at his daughter gurgling away in the Senju’s arms. Something set a sparkle in his dark eyes, and he was on his feet, stretching as he too walked away. He made sure to at least grunt the word “shogi” over his shoulder in invitation before disappearing from sight.

Tobirama sighed heavily, patting the girl’s back as he got up. There were many who swore the Senju heir had zero social skills; clearly, they’d never been around the Nara before. Still, he made sure to support the Nara child as he once again followed after her father.

It wasn’t surprising to find that Koshika had kept her word, and their shogi game had been left undisturbed. They only managed to move a few pieces before the little Nara showed interest, eyes sharp as she meticulously picked up a piece and did her best to stack them. To her great delight, the two men helped her, holding out pieces for her to choose from. The morning was soon filled with the sound of clinking and the occasional fit of shrill laughter when her managed to stay upright.

The shouji slid open quietly when Koshika returned to them, this time accompanied only by the youngest adviser. The young man was surprisingly awake considering the early hour, even more so considering his heritage.

Koshika waved him up, taking her daughter as she did so. The little one was quick to make a fuss, making grabby hands at the board now out of her reach.

“Yuko’s your escort.” Settling down into the now empty seat, Koshika patted her daughter’s head, soothing back her hair. When that did nothing to stop her fussing, Toshi picked up one of his game pieces and held it out to her.

“Hatsuko.” Recognizing her father’s voice, she peeked through her chubby hands, waterworks stopping in an instant as she squealed and took the piece, going right back to her tower making.

There was a dull aching in Tobirama’s chest as he watched the warm scene. Not for the first time, he wondered where Mito was. Her and Hashirama had been planning to give him niblings, little Senju he could spoil rotten and stuff full of knowledge. He pushed those thoughts back down for later, however, turning his attention to his escort.

As he caught Yuko’s eyes, the boy straightened from his slouch against the wall and led him back out of the house. They walked further into the Nara district at a decent pace, if unhurried, with the younger keeping his head tilted towards the sky and arms crossed behind his head.

Their destination was a massive building deep within the compound, one with few windows and only a single visible entrance. As they walked up the stone steps towards the double doors, the Nara peered over at him, scratching the base of his neck as he spoke. “You’re free to use the library as long as I’m with you. If I’m busy, you could probably take Yasu-san.” The mumbled out “I guess” as he opened the door was not very assuring, but Tobirama ignored it and followed him inside. He was feeling a little smug about being here, and wasn’t going to let small details bring him down. The Nara clan, ever known for guarding their intellectual property, were allowing him, an outsider, into their private library.

If he were a lesser shinobi, the sight that greeted him would have knocked the air out of him. As it were, he was still struck still in awe at the towering bookshelves ahead of him.

Tobirama grieved his birth into a non-scholarly clan. He considered himself an educated man, but that was only after decades of scraping handfuls of study time here and there. If only he had been born a Nara. Oh, what he could have learned.

For once, Tobirama had no inkling of where to start.

He shook himself out of his dazed stupor. He could drool over the old tomes and strolls later; for now, he had research to do. Turning back to his escort, who was waiting patiently for him at the front desk, he asked to be shown the theoretical science sections.

The boy’s eyes lit up. The Nara as a whole loved that sort of subject - the intangible, the sort of thing one could discuss for days but never physically touch. Tobirama himself had never cared for such topics, leaving them be, but found Yuko’s excitement amusing. Too little of the youth were interested in learning for its own sake.

“What are you looking for anyway?”

They reached their area, the shelves reaching up towards the high ceiling. Tobirama tilted his head back, white hair brushing against his shoulders, counting up to ten, twelve rows. Two whole book cases for the theoretical sciences, divided further into sections and subsections.

He must resemble a child in a candy store. Or his brother in a tea shop.

“I came across references to changing realities, while reading about universal consistencies.” The lie rolled off his tongue, sounding a bit distant as he continued to stare in wonder.

Yuko tilted his head back and forth, likewise considering the books above them. “You mean like laws and theories changing?”

“No.” Tobirama hummed in thought, pulling out a book at random and thumbing through it. “More inconsequential differences.”

“Doesn’t really make much sense,” he drawled out, walking a few subsections down from his charge, putting a hand on the shelves while scanning them.

Snapping the book shut, he slid it back into place. “No, none at all.”

At the groaned out “troublesome” under Yuko’s breath, the Senju turned to comment further, wondering how to articulate further what he needed without revealing too much. He found himself alone on the floor however, and, flickering his gaze around, found that the boy was halfway up the shelves, holding himself up with one hand while searching through the collection with the other.

That was certainly one way of browsing. After a few minutes of hanging from the book case, he simply let himself drop, balancing his bounty in one palm. He held out the impressive stack to his guest, pointing out one of the many seating areas after he was relieved of the books.

“I’ll be back at the front desk when you’re done.” And, with a wave over his shoulder, he was gone, leaving Tobirama alone to his research.

It was in the middle of scanning the fifth book, nose deep in theoretical physics, that he realized how fucked he was. Unease and confusion warred in his stomach, nausea causing his head to spin.

In his dazed state, he somehow managed to find his way to the front desk, interrupting Yuko from his absent doodling - doodles that looked suspiciously like advanced mathematics, but Tobirama couldn’t quite focus on the blurred numbers, couldn’t process what he was seeing.

“I’d like to borrow this one.” He flashed the book a second too late for the gesture to be natural.

Normally sleep-hazed eyes sharpened at him, studying his face and posture. If there was any difference to note, Yuko didn’t comment on it. “It shouldn’t be much of a problem.” With a muttered “probably” under his breath, he lead him to the door, leaving the Senju heir to make his own way out of the Nara district.

That night, up far past the last rays of natural light, Tobirama finally understood what he’d done. He had read and reread the few chapters of reference he had, his fingers shaking with nerves and honest _fear_.

There weren’t just a few different, wrong things. Everything was wrong. _He_ was wrong.

There was a knock at his door, the creaking of hinges as Hashirama poked his head into the guest room, wanting to be sure his brother had eaten something before retiring for the night.

All Tobirama could do was stare at him from his cushion, seated at the low desk in the room. Stare at this man, Hashirama - this version of Hashirama, this _wrong_ version, staring right back at him.

The Hashirama that wasn’t _his_ wrinkled his brows in worry, asking if something was wrong. Tobirama couldn’t bring himself to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably a fuck ton of mistakes in this chapter, because guess who didn't proof read this shit: this asshole! *finger guns*
> 
> Flower language:  
> Though cyclamen are considered 'the holy flower of love' in Japan, they represent separation in some other cultures.  
> Also, orchids symbolized wealth and royalty in Japan, but Japanese warriors believed they were to be rewarded for their bravery if they came across one.
> 
> The bother of Nara:  
> Nara Koshika - (小鹿) - meaning "fawn" or "little deer." Goes by Shika (鹿), meaning just "deer."  
> Nara Toshi (慧) - meaning "wise," "alert," or "bright."  
> Nara Yasu (ヤス) - meaning "assertive child."  
> Nara Yuko (裕子) - meaning "child of leisure." More commonly a girl's name.  
> Nara Kou (光) - meaning "light."  
> Nara Hatsuko (初子) - meaning "first child."  
>   
> Misc. Terminology:  
> Hyuuga Juinjutsu - Curse mark jutsu, aka cursed seal, aka the caged bird curse seal, aka shitting Hyuuga shit.  
> Yatai - Outdoor food stalls.  
> Yakitori - Grilled chicken, often served on a skewer.  
> Dorayaki - Small, pancake-like castella patties with red bean paste and other filling(s) between them  
> As always, questions/comments are welcomed and greatly appreciated! I'm awful at responding to comments, but I'm trying to at least make sure to answer any questions posted. All the feedback I've received so far has seriously made me so happy~~ :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The resident hens go about their fretting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a distinct lack of badass buns in this fandom. Excuse me while I correct that.

Madara settled himself down onto his cushion, pushing his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. There was the barest of light coming through the window, the sun having just sank below the horizon, but the kitchen light was more than enough to see by. Still, he arranged a few small candles on the tabletop of his kotatsu, lighting them with a flicker of chakra for a katon. It took only a few minutes for the scent of lavender and rosemary to fill the room. He breathed in the calming aroma, closing his eyes, letting the pent up stress leak out of his shoulders.

He opened up the book he’d brought out from his study, letting the hard cover fall open, lazily thumbing through to where he’d left off. It was an overview of the history of Fire Country, not very dense with information considering shinobi habits of secrecy, but it was a thoughtful gift from Izuna nonetheless. Even if it had been several months late for a birthday gift.

Only a few paragraphs into the chapter, a hesitant knocking at his door interrupted his quiet evening. He groaned, rubbing his sore eyes before flaring out his chakra. At the dense-bright-earth aura at his front door, he groaned again, knowing he couldn’t exactly ignore this particular late-night intrusion.

When he opened the door, Hashirama wilted under his dour expression. The Senju shuffled his feet, his hands behind his back, peeking out between the long bangs falling in his face.

It was only after Madara crossed his arms with an expectant flicker towards his hands that Hashirama showed him what he had, shrinking even further as he did so. He held out a bottle, staring down at his toes with all the presence of a scolded child.

Madara took the bottle, taking a moment to note it hadn’t been opened. With a neutral grunt, he walked back into his house, leaving his friend to come in behind him.

“Make some tea.” The words were thrown over his shoulder as he headed down the hallway passed the guest room. He stepped into his home office, squinting into the dark, but didn’t bother to turn on a light as he felt around his desk. The modern design might be a stark contrast to the more traditional style of his home, but it certainly gave more room for drawers. Fumbling around for the bottom one, he shoved the sake in before closing and locking it tight.

The lock was more to give someone pause than anything else. Anyone who dared to call themselves a shinobi could pick such a simple thing, let alone the _God of Shinobi_. Hopefully, the man would come to his senses while breaking into it and realize he didn’t need the poison brew.

The water wasn’t close to sizzling yet when he made his way back, so he settled back at the kotatsu to wait. Hashirama knew his way around the kitchen; there was no need to aid him. He considered reading more of his book, but pushed it away for later. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting the calming candles ease the ice picking in his head, dulling the pain to a softer, steadier pressure.

Hashirama eventually bustled into the room, carrying a tray of tea supplies: a steaming tea pot, two mugs, a tea strainer, and the container of loose leaves. Even with all of his natural energy, he managed to look dejected, flopping down on the cushion opposite his unwitting host.

“How do you live with so little variety?” He pouted pitifully, busying himself making their mugs of barley tea.

“No one’s making you drink my tea.”

“You drink my tea all the time.” Hashirama wrinkled his nose at the subpar brew. There was stress in his eyes, however, a heavy unease that belied the nature of his visit.

“You’re complaining a lot for a man who’s drinking free tea,” Madara snarked right back. He knew Hashirama hadn't come here for their usual banter, the dull brown of his eyes said that quite clearly, but it was easy to slip into the habit of teasing him. Besides, the man always came clean in the end - there was no harm in having his fun first.

After half an hour of silent fidgeting, however, Madara realized that tonight he needed the prompting. Whatever had tightened his eyes was clearly serious if it left even this gabby idiot without words. He tapped a nail on the rim of his mug, voice cutting through the uneasy silence. “I don’t have all night. What do you want?”

Hashirama slumped forward, disregarding his friend’s harsh tone, and flopped his chin down onto his folded arms on the table. An Uchiha’s bark wasn’t all that serious, after all. He was more putting on airs than anything else.

“Tobirama’s not talking to me.” From the doom and gloom of his tone, one would think he was speaking of a death in the family, not a squabble between siblings. Madara propped his own chin up on a palm, slouching forward.

“That’s what brought you here?” He sounded bored, unimpressed, but he was focused in on the crease of Hashirama’s brow. After years of being the man’s only family, even if not by blood, he could read behind his exaggerated moods. He knew that look, had seen it a hundred times over, and a hundred times again through just their first year in Konoha. When the man would fumble his way over to the Uchiha residence, staring blankly into the middle space for hours without a word.

It was when Hashirama’s voice was silent that his face spoke the most, pain and loss etched into the still lines. No wonder he’d stooped so low and bought the sake tonight.

“I’m failing him again, aren’t I?”

A man that large, that full of life and hopes and dreams, should never sound so small. It physically hurt Madara to hear him then, tightened his gut with regret, to know he couldn’t actually to anything to help him.

Though, this time was different. Madara pushed his hair away from his eye, ignoring how it fell right back into his face. The demon was alive, after all, through whatever kami’s mercy. It wasn’t Hashirama lamenting the loss of his sibling anymore, merely bemoaning their lack of closeness. He was mourning too soon, giving up without a fight.

The behavior was hardly fitting of such a fierce warrior.

“Weren’t you just spending time with him a few weeks ago? He wasn’t avoiding you then.” Hashirama was such a feelings person, so wrapped up in his emotions that he often overlooked simple facts. Madara had to beat him down with the logic to make him see reason sometimes.

“Yeah…” He pulled Madara’s history book closer, looking repelled by the topic but played with the pages anyway. “But now I never see him. He just shuts himself off everyday, and barely even _looks_ at me.”

“Well, do you know why he’s avoiding you?”

“I have no idea!” Hashirama threw his arms up, wide-eyed and desperate. “Madara, we were finally talking. It felt so nice - like we were actually brothers again! We hadn’t spent time together like that since we were children.”

Madara huffed, not exactly disbelieving his friend but puzzled all the same. “Did you not talk in his last years?”

Slumping forward again, Hashirama reached out and grabbed his mug. He didn’t drink any of his now ice-cold tea, only tilted it back and forth, watching the grain brew swaying with the movement. “He hated me. Said I was a disgrace to the Senju clan, to father’s name.”

Madara felt a sick knot forming in his stomach. He knew the two disagreed in politics, had fought heavily before the man fell to illness, but to go that far? To insult one’s own sibling, only remaining sibling at that, in such a way?

“He also said I was an idiot.” From the barest twitch of his lips, it was clear he was trying to lighten the mood - even if his tone remained somber and low.

“Well, you are an idiot.” He grabbed his own tea, draining his cup before pushing it towards his guest. Hashirama sulked at the insult, but filled his friend’s mug up anyway.

When the silence became pregnant once more, Madara sent him a serious look, all snark gone from his tone. “Try talking to him.”

“I don’t know _how_ to talk to him.” Hashirama groaned, gripping his hair tight with both hands, hiding his face on the table. “Kami above, he’s my brother. My only living brother, and I don’t know how to talk to him.”

Madara scratched a hand through his own hair, brows pinched with worry. “Do I have to hold your hand through everything?” At the pitiful glance his way, he pinned Hashirama with his most no-nonsense glare. “Tomorrow, you’re going to go talk to him, and figure out what’s got his panties all bunched. We’ll smack the brat atop his head if we have to.”

“We?” The tone was lit with cautious hope.

“Yes, we, since you’re apparently useless without me.” The response was a little more bitey than necessary, but the beaning smile was bringing unwanted heat to his cheeks.

“You’ll really go with me?” At Madara’s stink eye, his smile brightened even more. “That’s- _thank you_ , I’m not sure what to say to him, and I’m afraid I’ll just mess it up, and if you’re there than maybe- Madara, _thank you_!”

The Uchiha harrumphed at the gushing nitwit, jerking his head to the side to hide his unseemly flush. “Useless man. An idiot, that’s what you are.” He grumbled some more, doing his best to block out Hashirama’s shinning teeth with the black fringe that fell in his face.

They finished their tea in blessed silence, the Senju looking relieved if still down. When Madara stood up at last, it was with all the authority afforded to him by his lineage. “I’m setting up the guest room.” He strode away towards the mentioned room with his head high, not giving the other man a chance to protest if he wanted to.

When Hashirama meandered that way as well, after cleaning up the dishes and putting out the lights, his host had already set up two futons and had crawled under the covers of the far one. Hashirama shook his head lightly at the scene but didn’t comment, long used to the odd nature of the Uchiha. It had been shocking, sure, the first time Madara had shared a room with him, but he found it more endearing now than anything else. His friend trusted him enough to let his guard down, and that meant the world to him.

Not that Madara would ever out and state it in such a way. The man was far too proud and emotionally stunted to be that vulnerable, even with his sworn brother and best friend.

Hashirama crawled into his own futon, a fuzzy warmth in his chest. Though his mind was still whirling away with fear and worry, he managed to fall asleep quickly enough, comforted by the presence of his dearest friend.

 

* * *

 

The sun was already streaking bright through his windows by the time Madara crawled back out of the futon. Even if he had the mental capacity to care at the moment, he wouldn’t have felt guilty in the least for the late hour. His work week had been a disaster, his entire Saturday spent dealing with his clan, and he’d been forced to pick up Izuna’s clan duties  _again_ since he was still out of the village.

As it were, he didn’t give much thought to anything beyond the covers he was tripping over. It took a few moments of blearily blinking at the second futon to remember he had spent the night in the guest room, and a bit longer still to remember why.

He set to work putting away the bedding, grumbling nonsensical words that sounded vaguely threatening to his sleep hazed mind. After folding everything up and stacking it neat in the oshiire, he slid open the door and lumbered his way towards the smell of food.

Tuning out the sunshine and rainbows radiating from his guest, Madara dropped into his usual spot at the kotatsu, scratching at the massive rats nest that was his hair. He briefly considered just hacking it all off. The thought was vastly superior to dealing with all the yanking and swearing required to tame it daily, and would spare him the literal headaches that followed.

Beyond squinting at the food to make sure it was edible, he didn’t pay much attention to what he was eating. He simply enjoyed the quiet morning while it lasted - though he was gradually becoming aware that it was more afternoon than morning.

It took half and hour and a full cup of spiced chai for Madara to be considered awake. By that time, Hashirama had scooted his own cushion behind his and had busied himself taming the beast, humming while working a comb through the knots and tangles.

Madara sighed as deft fingers worked through his hair. The oaf was a useless imbecile most of the time, but he was still good for a few things. He made an excellent hair wrangler, after all, which certainly beat having to do it himself. He hardly had the patience for it nowadays.

“There! All done!” His hair was flung over his shoulder, coming close to whapping him on his cheek. He hadn’t realized Hashirama had been messing his hair up until he was scowling down at his hair, a braid laying neat and tidy on his chest. He ripped it out, shoving an elbow back at his friend’s loud protests.

Madara stood up abruptly, sending Hashirama flailing backwards to catch himself. “We’re leaving to speak with the brat now.” From his tone, one would think it had been _Hashirama_ , not Madara himself, who hadn’t woken until noon and taken a full hour to get ready.

And he still took an extra twenty minutes to dress himself, taking his sweet time as if he hadn’t declared their immediate departure.

Despite his attempts to distract himself from their mission, Hashirama had worked himself into quite a state at that point. He was twitching as they left the Uchiha complex, nervously chewing at his thumbnails - a nasty habit, but he couldn’t seem to stop, even though he’d only recently picked it up. He’d managed to tear the skin enough to bleed the day before, and wasn’t far off of tasting bitter copper again already.

The Uchiha Head was radiating power and authority as he marched through the streets, head high and eyes focused ahead of them. Hashirama trailed behind him like a meek child headed for a scolding, feeling the heavy pressure of his impending doom.

He could still bolt. If he ran for it now, he might actually outmaneuver Madara enough to make his escape. Touka had mentioned Uzushio was especially beautiful this time of year. Maybe she wouldn’t rat him out?

The revered hokage nearly doubled over in his depression, oblivious to the civilian children giggling behind their hands as he trudged pasted them. Of course she would. Touka was Pure Evil, and would cackle evilly as she told everyone where he was hiding, with her evil grin and that evil glint in her eyes.

Did he mention that she was evil?

“Where is he?”

Hashirama straightened back up, jogging a few steps to catch up with his friend. He plastered a smile on his face, though it did nothing to quell the swelling panic in his chest. “At home? It’s where he’s been spending most of his time anyway.”

“Hn.” Madara continued his march, turning to lead them onward to the Senju district. “If he’s not, I’ll find him.”

There was no telling whether that was meant as a threat or not. Due to his imminent heart attack from sheer anxiety, Hashirama overlooked the tone. His heart wasn’t meant to beat this fast. It had to be unhealthy for him.

Was he dying?

As the leading iryou ninjutsu specialist in the whole of Fire Country - concerning what he could actively heal, even without taking into account his subconscious ability to regenerate - and the head doctor at the Konoha public hospital, known as the best hospital east of Silk Country, he could only conclude that he was most definitely dying.

Yup. This was it. There was no way he’d make it this time.

They arrived at his house entirely too soon, even considering the civilian’s pace they took to get there. As he stood on the steps of his porch, watching the dark aura leaking out of the cracks of his house, he thought it was no wonder he never had guests. Had his front door always looked that terrifying?

“Do I have to open the door for you, too?”

Hashirama turned a wide-eyed stare towards his friend. Perhaps the tone had been mocking, but there was clearly warm encouragement burning in those coal eyes.

At least, he thought there was. People were always telling him he had a wild imagination.

With a slow, deep breath, Hashirama put steel in his spine, calling on all of his natural calm. He was a shinobi, a war veteran, had faced full battlefields against stacked odds. Had faced _Madara_ , stood tall and proud against those flames - and had come back alive each and every time. He was the founder of Konoha, the _hokage_ , Konoha’s most fearsome defender.

He threw the door open and leapt back, hiding in the black mane of Madara’s hair.

Madara’s long suffering sigh was felt more than heard, and was followed shortly by a tight grip on his arm. Hashirama squeaked as he was thrust inside the house, a firm hand between his shoulder blades.

The Uchiha snapped at his friend, kicking his sandals off before shoving him forward. “He’s down the hall in the guest room, not in the front room.” The added “coward” was mumbled hot under his breath.

If he was being honest with himself, Hashirama wasn’t sure if the steady hand on his back was meant as a comfort, or just a fail safe so he couldn’t bolt. Either way, he found himself staring at the guest room door far too soon, nose near touching the grain as sweat beaded at the nape of his neck.

War seemed a safer option than knocking at that door.

Still, with a grounding breath that sounded desperate even to his own ears, Hashirama raised one hand and rapped white knuckles on the door. He shut his eyes tight, and braced for the storm…

That never came.

With a whined out exhale, he shot a pleading look at his current captor, making sure to make his eyes as big and watery as possible for maximum effect.

Madara just rolled his eyes back at him, the cold hearted bastard. “He’s in there.”

“But he’s not answering…”

“Knock louder! Do I have to think of everything?” Madara scratched behind an ear, considering the door. “Maybe he’s sleeping.”

“He usually wakes up before me though.”

Madara’s expression spoke volumes about how disgusted he was at the prospect. Hashirama simply flapped one hand uselessly at the door. “Can’t you, I dunno, sense if he’s awake?”

“No. I can tell where he is, not what he’s doing.”

As Hashirama leaned forward to place a tentative ear to the wood, Madara slapped a palm over his own face, groaning. “Just open the damn door, Senju. It’s your house!”

“I don’t wanna wake him if he’s sleeping.” The irony of his stage whispering was lost on the both of them.

The Uchiha’s naturally paper-thin patience was finally shredded by that latest act of tomfoolery. The door was rattling in its hinges under his rapt pounding, his voice booming. “Come out, demon! Your brother has business with you!”

The crashing from the other side of the door couldn’t mean anything good. Hashirama tried to scramble backwards, but Madara was suddenly right behind him, blocking his escape route with his broad body.

When the door at last creaked open, they were greeted by the overwhelming stench of alcohol, the miasma of sake spewing forth and assaulting their eyes and nostrils. The man behind the door looked wretched, red eyes further blood shot, skin and clothes splotched with ink and clearly foul from lack of hygiene. As he tried to look at the two men who woke him, his head slumped to one side, thumping against the door frame.

“Your father was a drunkard, wasn’t he?” Madara’s eyebrows were disappearing into his hairline from sheer wonder. Even though his observation went unanswered, he accepted it as 100% fact, the one and only explanation for the alcoholics that were the Senju brothers.

Despite his earlier reservations, Hashirama was reaching for his brother in an instant, palms glowing green as he gripped his face, white hair damp with sweat and sticking to the pale cheeks at his fingertips.

Even as the younger man attempted to reel away from them, he sighed at the cooling touch, eyes fluttering shut as he involuntarily leaned into the broad hands. He mumbled incoherently, clumsy hands trying to push his brother away before gripping the frame tight to keep himself upright.

“Take the brat to the living room.” Madara didn’t wait for a reply, striding away towards the kitchen, giving Hashirama a minute to coddle his baby brother.

Madara set to work searching through the cabinets, frustration increasing with each drawer he opened. The Senju knew nothing about organization. It took several minutes and quite a few creative curses, ones he intended to remember for late, before he stood triumphantly waiting for his concoction to steep properly.

When he deemed the mixtures of spices decently aged, he moved the pot to the living room. He made sure to bring the largest mug he could find as well, one covered with bright pink and purple pansies. He hated that he could recognize the flowers - maybe he had spent too much time with the living stump of a Senju.

Just seeing the black pot on his new table gave Hashirama flashbacks. He was sitting in the middle of the sofa, one hand firm on his brother’s shoulder, the other rubbing his pale arm in an attempt to soothe him.

He shivered and gagged at the stinging scent wafting from the mug. “You’re not really gonna make him drink it, are you?”

Madara raised one dark brow in challenge, thrusting the mug over his friend into Tobirama’s fumbling hands. The albino lifted his head from where it had flopped on the back of the sofa, sending what was probably supposed to be a cautious look at the drink. He mainly just looked nauseous.

“He either drinks it, or I get the funnel.”

Either Tobirama understood the threat through the haze of sake, or he was the bravest man Hashirama could ever meet, because he was soon draining the cup - somehow managing without a spill, despite his distinct lack of coordination.

The coughing that followed that bravest of acts was a much more expected reaction. Hashirama grabbed the mug away from him before he could drop it, wrinkling his nose at the oily tar left in the bottom before pushing it as far across his table as possible. He patted his brother’s back as the man continued to hack and cough, only a little worried that his brother might choke to death.

When he was finally done dying, Tobirama slumped over the arm of the sofa with a loud groan. Whatever effect Madara had expected his liquid fire brew to have seemed for naught, seeing as the man was no more sober or aware than he’d been five minutes before.

The Uchiha deflated, sliding down in his armchair with a cross of his arms. He grumbled something about the damn alcoholic Senju and their lack of cayenne peppers.

Hashirama started to rub soothing circles between his brother’s shoulder blades, despite how he kept trying to lean away from him. His brows pinched with worry.

“I’ve never seen him drink before.” He scooted even closer to his brother and brushed the hair out of his face, tucking the wet strands behind his ear. Tobirama had his eyes shut tight, breathing through his nose, but relaxed ever so slightly as tan fingers pressed their green glow back to his temples.

Madara watched the two brothers, concern pulling the corners of his mouth down.

Concern for his friend, of course. Nothing else. He didn’t care one bit if the demon wanted to drink himself into a coma. He just cared how that would effect Hashirama. The man would start drinking again, and sage knows he had no control when it came to his poisons. Plus, the Senju had already lost his brother once, and hadn’t even recovered from it the first time. If he lost him again so soon…

He groaned, scrubbing his face with his hands, lamenting his fate. Of course he had to help. It had to be him. Who else could put up with these idiots?

Even as he accepted his fate, he groused inwardly about it. He had other things he wanted to do with his life, after all. Hobbies and whatnot. Things other than babysitting man children and nursing alcoholics back from the grave.

As Madara continued to inwardly curse his own generous nature, Hashirama had somehow managed to pull his brother even closer, right into his chest. He was running his fingers through the white hair, murmuring nonsensical comforts as he did so.

“You’ll put him back to sleep at that rate.” Despite the accusation, Madara kept his voice low.

“What could’ve made him drink so much?” It was probably the first time in Hashirama’s life that he succeeded in keeping his voice soft. His friend wouldn’t hold his breath on him succeeding again anytime soon.

“Gone.” The low grunt had both men focusing back at the albino. It took a few moments of deep breathing through his nose, likely to calm his nausea, before he was able to slur out any more. “They’re gone.”

Hashirama waited for a minute before prompting him gently, “Who’s gone, Tobira?”

“Hanten. Ena. Heikou. They’re not responding, I can’t-” He inhaled sharply, turning to bury his face further into the broad chest. His next words were muffled, barely intelligible. “They’re gone. I’m alone.”

The list of names held no meaning to Madara. He quirked a brow in question at his friend, who shrugged lightly in response.

“I think Ena was one of his summons?” Hashirama offered. He wrapped a hand around his brother’s right wrist, rubbing a thumb over the dark tattoo there. “Is this not working? Can you not summon them anymore?”

At the sad shake of his head, Hashirama clutched his shoulders tighter, pushing his head even further into his chest.

Knowing he couldn’t do much where he was, Madara pushed himself up. He made his way to the kitchen, intent on gathering supplies for the drunk man. Water, some bread and crackers. Perhaps some rice porridge?

His mind made him, he pushed up his long sleeves, making sure to get out enough rice for plenty of leftovers. The stuff did wonders to soothe hangovers, after all. And as much as Hashirama loved to fret over people, he was a useless caretaker. Would probably burn the dish if it was left to him. Then the brat wouldn’t eat any of it, and would only feel worse - it would save Madara a nasty migraine if he just went ahead and took care of it all himself from the get-go.

 

* * *

 

It was well past midnight by the time Madara made it home, his weekly house chores being abandoned for the comfort of his futon. As exhausted as he was, the quiet made it difficult to fall asleep. He was the eldest of five, after all, and had spent his childhood crammed into a single room with his brothers. The absence of his family sleeping near him still felt wrong even after years of having his own room.

He remembered the owl eyed confusion he’d seen the first time Hashirama had stayed in his guest room, when Madara pulled out a futon for himself as well. Perhaps it was just an Uchiha tradition, sleeping so near one’s family.

At some point he must have fallen asleep. He found himself back at the bird nursery he’d built in the old Uchiha compound, peering into a nest at three tiny chicks nestled within. Suzaku was resting on his shoulder, the fierce bird puffed up with pride, preening the rusty brown feathers of her under-wings.

A small part of him was aware that she’d not lived to have chicks. He’d sold her years back, wanting the extra coin for the winter. He’d lost a brother to starvation a few years before, and their food supply was running low again. The coin was spent as soon as it hit his palm, and he stuffed Izuna full of as much food as he could afford. His brother had slept with nary a rumble for a week after that.

Even partially aware that this couldn't be real, the baby plumage still felt soft at his fingertips, tiny beaks sharp as they poked at his hands in search of food. Suzaku’s talons gripped his shoulder tight, bringing the barest pain along with them, her weight shifting as she shook out her broad, dark wings. Madara chirped at his small hawklings, and they chirped and cried right back, making him grin wide and puff up just like their mother.

When he was roused from his dreams by something thumping through his kitchen, his first thought was that his chicks were far too young to be cooking their own breakfast. His muddled brain was quick to correct itself: since the moon was still high in the sky, it was far too early for the chicks to be up at all.

Groggy yet adamant about putting them back to nest, Madara trundled his way towards the noise. He had to strain his eyes against the dark, blurred by sleep as they were and damaged from years of overusing his doujutsu. He missed the nights he could still see clearly, but those were long behind him now.

It took him at least a minute of processing, standing in the kitchen and near falling asleep on his feet, to realize it was not, in fact, his nonexistent chicks who had been rummaging through his cabinets. After another minute of sleepy scowling, he realized the invader was no longer in the kitchen at all, but had moved on to the living room - leaving most of his cabinets and drawers open in their wake.

Grumbling about slobs with no manners and having to do everything himself, kami forbid anyone else do any work, Madara shut everything up before lumbering his way towards his unwanted guest.

Though seeing his baby brother, sitting on the edge of his kotatsu and stitching up a nasty wound on his arm, was far from what he expected to find, it was certainly more than enough to jolt Madara awake.

“Exactly _why_ are you bleeding all over my house?” He was on Izuna in an instant, tripping over the large summon that was laying under his brother's feet. He ignored Ina’s indignant stamping as she hopped to the side, cursing and calling him a sour old man as she went.

Taking the needle and swatting his brother’s bloodied gloves away from the wound, he gripped his upper arm carefully, checking the cut. Both it and the needle appeared clean, but he took no chances, reaching for the first aid kit sitting next to his brother and sterilizing them again.

“Oh, you know,” Izuna drawled, trying his best not to flinch at the sharp pinch of the needle, “I just thought you could use a fresh paint job. Free of charge, by the way."

Madara kept his focus on stitching the wound, keeping his hands steady and pushing down the sick lump forming in his throat at his _baby brother’s blood_ slicking his fingers. “Brat, why are you here and not at the hospital? I’m no medic!” He tied off the thread as he finished, cutting it short and wiping his hands clean before continuing his examination - still firmly thinking about anything besides the blood, _Izuna’s blood_ , now under his fingernails.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Izuna tried unsuccessfully to wave him off. “It was just a lucky hit, s’all.”

Ignoring Izuna's deceptive grin, Madara continued to pat him down. He found a handful of scrapes, and even more bruises, but most were of no immediate concern. At the swelling in his right ankle, however, as well as the almost concealed flinch when he grabbed it, Madara growled at him.

“The hospital never closes - why did you come here?” He propped the ankle up on his raised knee, grabbing the bandages off the kotatsu. “I can’t deal with infections, with broken bones!”

“I don’t like hospitals.” Izuna sniffed, leaning back on his palms. Ina propped her head up next to him, nudging his side in affection. “Besides, nothing’s _infected_ or _broken_. I just rolled my ankle weird.”

“And how do you know that? Are you a doctor?” He was hissing now, the mess of his bed hair making him resemble a spitting cat. Still, his hands were gentle, movements careful as he wrapped the injured ankle.

Izuna soothed one hand over Ina’s loppy ears, the bun chuffing at the attention. “Cause I can still walk? If it was broken, it would’ve given out at some point between here and Iwa.”

“You walked all the way back from _Earth Country_ on this?” Though he would deny it to his grave, Madara was squawking in his horror.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not that stupid.” Izuna shot him a cheeky grin. “I ran.”

That remark earned him a sharp nip from his summon, and some rather undignified sputtering from his older brother. Flustering his brother, in Izuna’s honest opinion, was worth the burning pain from his bun’s teeth.

“That’s it!” Madara sprung up, dropping the ankle to tower over the parasite lazing on his kotatsu. “Hospital. Now.”

All humor left the younger man as he stared up at his brother, exhaustion finally showing in the slump of his shoulders. His voice was tired and quiet, lacking the energy it had only moments before. “I don’t like going there. You know that.”

“Actually,” Madara put his hands on his hips, “I don’t. Tell me why, exactly, you’re against receiving _medical treatment_ from _medical professionals_.”

Izuna stared up at him blankly, pulling his ponytail over one shoulder, tugging at the ends nervously. “I never know when _he_ might be there.”

“Who?”

“You know who.” He looked morose, like simply speaking on the matter was enough to weigh him down. Ina shoved her head into his lap, whether to comfort him or as a demand for attention was anyone’s guess.

Madara crouched down in front of him, brows furrowed. “Hashirama?” At the reluctant nod, he huffed lightly, but put a warm hand on his brother’s knee. “You know he wouldn’t refuse you treatment, right? I’d kill him if he did.”

Even through the sincerity of his tone, Izuna looked unconvinced. And, from the tightening in his shoulders, he was also prepared to fight if it came to it. Instead of pushing him further, Madara reached out to brush the bangs from his face, touching their foreheads together briefly before standing back up.”

“Go run a bath. I’ll fix us some food.”

As Izuna made his way to the bathroom, Ina hopped over, standing back on her hind legs. The top of her head just reached Madara’s chest, her grey-brown ears hanging past his hips. She grabbed one between her two large paws to groom it.

“You kits are too precious, riling each other up like that.”

Madara glowered down at her. “You’re a rabbit. Why didn’t _you_ heal him?”

She snorted out a miffed honk in offense. “I’m no moon rabbit, you grouch.”

“Don’t make me stew you!” He snorted at her indignant stomp, leaving her be to fix them all food. Staying so late at the Senju house meant he'd missed dinner, and his stomach was audibly complaining. Izuna was probably no better off, having lived off of ration bars while off on his mission.

A simple meal of rice and omelets was soon plated on the table, along with a pot of herbal tea and honey. After some consideration, Madara threw together a light salad as well, setting aside a large bowl of greens for the spoiled summon to munch on. Sage knew Izuna didn’t eat enough greens on his own; he had to force them on him while he could.

Izuna shuffled into the room then, fighting with the long sleeves of a borrowed yukata. His hair was sticking to his face and neck, loose while it dried. He sat at the table, making sure to wrap his ankle back up before eating. Ina was quick to hop in after him, laying across the cushion to his left to flop into his lap, happily chuffing away as he rubbed the soft fur of her cheeks.

It only occurred to Madara halfway through their late-dinner early-breakfast that his brother had been away from the village for over two months now. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he blurted out, “Tobirama’s alive.”

He honestly hadn’t meant to wait until Izuna’s mouth was stuffed full to break the news to him.

Much hacking and coughing later, he managed to swallow his food, chasing it down with a long drag of tea. After a couple deep breaths, he turned a skeptical gaze towards his older brother, rasping out, “What in the hell are you on about?”

Madara humphed, shoving an appropriately sized bite of omelet in his mouth. He made sure to chew and swallow his food properly, eating like a mature adult. And Hashirama said he didn’t lead by example.

“Senju Tobirama. The white demon’s alive.”

Izuna took a moment to study him, searching for any hint of a lie or sick joke on his face. When all he got was a challenging frown, he slumped down, slouching over the warm fur in his lap.

“How did he- what?” He shook his head, baffled. “I thought he died from an infection _years_ ago. How is he just now back? Where’s he been this whole time?”

Taking a moment to ponder the same, Madara sipped his tea. Acai berry was never his favorite, but the strong taste of blueberries was pleasant enough with honey. “No idea, but he’s here now.” He placed his mug down, spinning it slowly by the rim, eyes unfocused. “He’s not coping. You should stay clear of him.”

“I didn’t exactly plan on walking up and chatting with him.” His snark was dulled by the shock evident in his voice. He stroked Ina’s nose, the bun turning her head to groom his fingers. Despite his sudden lack of appetite, he still forced himself to continue eating.

“Good.” Neither bothered to bring up how Hashirama would react. By all means, Madara was powerful, the strongest Uchiha in recorded history - but he was only the second strongest shinobi in Konoha. Even if Izuna was in the top five, if Hashirama saw him as a threat to his brother again, and decided to use deadly force…

The results would be catastrophic, for everyone involved - and there was no doubt that the whole of Konoha would be in the mix. They both knew it was best not to test fate on the matter.

After they were both finished with their tea and food, Madara shooed his brother off to the guest room, with a firm demand that he stay in the main house while he recovered. Izuna didn’t even argue, just yawned and shuffled off with his rabbit in tow, still processing the news he'd just received but far too tired to comment on it further.

Madara made sure to wash and dry all the dishes before retiring once more, not wanting to leave the mess until morning. There were a few more hours before he was expected at the office, so he made his way to the guest room as well, shoving Izuna over to squeeze his way into the futon. He fell asleep quickly to the sounds of deep breathing and light bunny snuffles near his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that updates might slow down in November, since I'm participating in NaNoWriMo. I'll try to keep it weekly, but might not make every week.
> 
> Flower language:  
> Pansies, in Japan, represent caring and thoughtfulness.
> 
> Names and the Associated Kanji:  
> Ina (医己) - Roughly translating to "self-doctor." Is both a reference to the Moon Rabbit, as well as Japanese myths involving the Hare of Inaba  
> Heikou (帲恒) - Roughly means "a consistent shelter." References a yokai with leopard-like spots  
> Ena (映己) - Roughly means "self-reflection." Named after a snow leopard at the Tama Zoo in Tokyo  
> Suzaku (朱雀) - "Vermilion bird" or "phoenix"
> 
> Misc. Information:  
> Oshiire are wall cabinets where futon, sitting cushions, pillows, and such items are stored.  
>   
> I based Suzaku, Madara's bird, after a Harris' hawk, since falconry is apparently not exclusive to the use of falcons (which I honestly didn't know until I looked it up).  
>   
> When I looked at everyone's canon abilities, it said Madara was pretty decent at iryou ninjutsu, like able to heal some serious wounds, but I wasn't able to figure out if that was because of Hashirama's cells or if he'd always been able to heal people. So I just said fuck it, he doesn't heal people here.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara and Hashirama stage an intervention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter deals a lot with depression. Just so everyone knows.

The futon’s warmth was no longer a comfort. It was stifling. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck, his back, his thighs. The sleep yukata was stuck to his skin, days old and near rancid from the heat. White hair left a moist imprint where it was pressed into the pillow, the smell of it stale, disgusting.

He needed to air out the futon. Should have done it days ago, if not weeks. His eyes rolled towards the window, head not moving, dully noting the bright sunlight peeking in through the thin curtains. It was a nice enough day for it. Past one in the afternoon, from what he could see, and few clouds. No threat of rain.

But his entire body felt drained, as if fresh off the battlefield, no energy left for movement. Not even to throw the suffocating cover off of his overheated body, to give himself that little reprieve. His legs were stuck together by the moisture, arms heavy and weighed down. Hands laid out in front of him, stained with ink and stuck to pages he hadn’t bothered to move before falling over.

The seals he had been working on were ruined, smeared and unreadable - but it didn’t matter. They didn’t work anyway.

Paper was scattered throughout the room, both loose and in messy piles, thrown here and there, tossed to the side when they failed him. Some seals and papers were neat and tidy; others scribbled and crumpled and torn in his haste and desperation.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He was still here, stuck, alone.

His eyes were drawn to a splash of color on the low desk, something he knew hadn’t been there before. Lifting his head felt like fighting against a storm’s tide, but he managed just enough to see over his shoulder, past the quilt pressing down on him. There were four ceramic pots on the desk, arranged neatly along one side, all fitted with flowers. Carnations, if he remembered correctly. The colors were all mixed together, white and pink and yellow and dark red, adding a sunny touch to the gloom about him.

Hashirama must have run out of room in the rest of his house. He let his head drop back to the pillow, not bothering to wonder when the man had snuck them in.

There was a light, hesitant knock at the door. He could feel the rich earthy depth of the chakra outside the room, the concern leaking out of the Senju head, the muffled shuffling of his feet and clothes. He spared a moment to wonder why the hokage was away from his office midday, but he discarded the thought quickly, ignored his would-be guest as he had for the past few days. It wasn’t his job to herd this hokage about, to chide and scold him into doing his work. It wasn’t his right.

A soft clicking sounded through the quiet, and a flood of light into the room before the door was shut. There were a few heavy steps across the tatami before Hashirama was sitting at his back, his weight shifting the covers and pulling them tight. Tobirama didn't turn to face him, didn't so much as glance towards his direction. He stayed staring at the wall next to the window, away from his company, his side pressed deep into the mattress, body weighing him down.

“Tobira, there’s some fresh fish on the table if you’re hungry.” The deep baritone was gentle, non-confrontational, soothing. It was a comfort to hear him, the warm settling in Tobirama’s chest despite the bitter taste of betrayal it left on his tongue.

He didn’t lift his head, didn't look at him. He let the heavy feel of his limbs keep him down, keep him still.

Brushing his knuckles against his brother’s exposed arm, Hashirama tried again, keeping his tone as light as he could. “If that feels like too much, there’s still some of Madara’s rice porridge. I’m sure it’s still good.”

The younger man squeezed his eyes shut, if only from the sheer burning desire to never hear another word about that Uchiha ever again.

A concerned sound escaped Hashirama’s throat, short and desperate and nearly nonexistent. He reached over to brush the white hair from his brother’s face. It was unkempt, oily and unwashed and tangled horribly despite its short length.

“You need to eat something, Tobira.” When he yet again refused to respond, the man scooted closer, his leg pressing against Tobirama’s upper back. “What would you like?”

“For you to go away.” His tone was flat, neutral. Held none of the hurt he felt twisting inside of his gut, boiling nausea in his stomach.

“I haven’t seen you leave this room for days.”

“Go away, Hashirama.” He wanted him to stay.

“You need to eat, to bathe. To walk around at the very least.” Hashirama seemed determined to ignore the younger man, to overlook his heavy tone and hurtful words. As if he honestly believed Tobirama was worth the effort.

“Go bother Touka.” As if his company was something that bothered him. Something he hadn’t wanted for so long just for it to be denied by his brother, his Hashirama. The one who had hated him and looked passed him like he wasn’t there.

A deep sigh, and then a hand rested on his shoulder, warm against his skin, welcome despite the uncomfortable heat around him. “I’m gonna bring you some food, okay? You don’t have to eat all of it. The covers loosed again as he stood and left, light from the hallway pouring into the now open room.

It was clear that he wasn’t getting out of this, so Tobirama gathered his strength and pushed himself up into a seated position. He rested his back against the wall, head tilted back and eyes closed as he listened to the clinking of dishes in the other room. The few minutes alone were spent on mental preparation, knowing it was a hard battle but one he had to stay strong for, couldn't let himself give in.

This wasn't him. He couldn't let himself be fooled by the kindness.

Hashirama was proceeded by the smell of rice and grilled fish wafting into the room. He placed them carefully on the futon before shuffling back, seating himself at the desk cushion with a mug of tea. Though he had little appetite, Tobirama managed half of his food before pushing it away. It was cooked as usual, but it tasted bland to him now, the flavor and texture off-putting, feeling wrong on his tongue.

The futon called out to him again, inviting him to lay back down and cover his face, hide away from his failures scattered about on the floor. But moving even that much seemed impossible at the moment. He stayed seated, head hitting the wall with a light thump as he let it fall back.

“Oh.” The faint sound had him cracking his eyes open, peering over at the other man. Hashirama was playing with the ends of his hair, holding his mug firm in his lap, staring down at his lap with a complicated mix of emotions written on his face.

“I haven’t told you about Touka yet, have I?”

Guilt weighed heavy in his words, and Tobirama leaned forward a fraction, studying him. A pang of worry hit him hard in the chest as he thought what could have caused such guilt. It was odd he hadn’t seen Touka yet; he had been here for several weeks now, and she hadn’t so much as popped up once. Sure, they didn’t share many interests beyond training, but the warrior loved to torture her “favorite baby cousin” with social events and endless teasing. Even the thought that she wouldn't _really_ be Touka, not _his_ , didn’t lessen the clawing fear and panic thick in his throat.

How had he not even noticed she wasn’t around? Had something happened to her? Was she in danger? Was she  _dead_?

“She’s fine, if you’re worried.” At least Hashirama was kind enough to save him from his inner brooding. Tobirama slumped back in his relief, not having been aware that his shoulders had tensed so much. Not having the energy to speak yet, he did his best to convey his thoughts without opening his mouth, catching the other man’s umber eyes and mentally throwing his burning curiosity at him through his gaze.

He was perfectly aware how unsuccessful he would potentially be in such a venture. Emotions weren’t his forte, and the abnormal color of his eyes often left the impression he was glowering more often than not. But maybe if he tried harder…

Hashirama’s face pinched together, and he turned away, unconcealed hurt in his eyes. Okay then. Bad plan.

His lips turned down a fraction, dismayed at the pain he’d caused. This was exactly why he didn’t like talking to people - or, in this case, trying to psychically transmit his feelings via air osmosis.

The brunet cleared his throat, forcing the younger man’s attention away from his failed transmission. He was back to pulling on his hair, twisting the ends into knots around his fingers. A sheepish smile was faint on his face; clearly, it was an attempt to distract from the awkward atmosphere between them. “Actually, I forgot to send her a letter. She doesn’t know you’re alive yet.”

“Letter?” He did his best to make it a question, but the word fell flat even in his own ears. Hashirama still nodded in reply, and Tobirama counted that as a win in his book. Had to take them where he could nowadays.

“She’s in Uzushio. Lives there actually. She moved there after we…” He paused, seemingly to debate with himself on whether to finish the though. When he did, it was with a deep breath and a forced-steady tone. “She moved after we fully aligned with the Uchiha. Uzushio was looking for an alliance anyway, so it worked out in the end.”

Letting his head tilt to one side, the white fringe fell back out of his face as he studied him. Hashirama’s posture was too calm, too purposely open at the moment - it dawned on him that he was much more bothered by the situation than he was letting on.

Touka left after the Uchiha-Senju war ended, but why would she leave? She had always been an advocate for peace, fought alongside Hashirama against the stubborn elders of their clan. Threatened physical violence at least a few times, and was quite willing to follow through with those threats too. Had, actually, on one occasion.

“Why?” At Hashirama’s confusion, he cleared his throat to clarify. “Why did she leave?”

“She adored you, Tobira.” It was said as if to assure him, as if it was something he wouldn’t already have already known without a doubt. “She took your death hard, especially since the two of you had been fighting. And living so close to the Uchiha…” His eyes were suddenly tight, jaw set firm, the casual tone forced and unnatural. “I think she was worried she’d up and punch the guy, and then were would our peace be?” The laughter that followed held no mirth, none of the breezy feel of that usually boomed out of his chest.

That look on his face took Tobirama back to his own world. When his brother wouldn’t look at him, how he had been so closed off and disinterested. Uncaring. It was eerie to see it again here, on this version of the man.

With a deep breath through his nose, the dark shadow that had crossed his face was gone, anger and whatever else had caused it melting away. He was meeting Tobirama’s eyes once more, posture open and concern clear in his gaze. “Are you thirsty? Is there anything I can get you?”

Though he did want more answers, eating a light lunch was hardly going to bring him enough energy to ask all of his questions. At the moment, Tobirama just didn’t want the other man to leave. He was beyond the point of reminding himself he shouldn’t care. Hashirama’s chakra was just so familiar, his presence so soothing and comforting. Even if it wasn’t _him_ , they were nearly identical, the same in so many ways. Different in all the ways that mattered.

“Some water.” He got a strained smile in response, before Hashirama was getting up. Before he went, he opened up the curtains, cracking the window to let the late summer breeze in. The dishes were all gathered up and taken back to the kitchen, and though he didn’t stay for long after bringing back the water, the time he spent was more than enough to prove that Tobirama wasn’t alone - and that’s really all Hashirama had wanted to accomplish that day anyway.

 

* * *

 

Hashirama had snuck in more flowers.

The far side of the room was filled with them, at least a dozen small pots arranged by size in front of the window. Most of them were covered in full flowers despite their usually different blooming seasons, deep violets and reds rich against the beige wall, lavenders and yellows and pinks bright in the dim morning light. His many years of living with the resident tree man had him naming them off on sight: morning glories, anemones, even more mixed carnations. A peek over the covers at the desk confirmed there were more pots there as well, three aloe plants joining plants already crowding the small wood surface.

Was this his new green house? The room hardly got enough sunlight to be an effective one.

He stirred in his laying position, peeling one hand away from the scraps of paper still scattered on his futon. Ink was smeared and dried on his skin, black against white, making the tattoo on his wrist unreadable. Seeing it only brought along a fresh wave of pain. His connection to the leopards was lost; all attempts to contact them had failed. They had always been a great source of comfort when he needed it, and though they still wouldn’t have been _his_ , seeking out their company would have been less of a betrayal, would have felt less like lying to himself than the alternative choice of company.

After all, if he ever figured out his way back home, his own summons would welcome him back warmly. They wouldn’t avoid him, wouldn't leave him empty in their absence. His hopes of a close relationship wouldn't be crushed under the weight of reality.

His renewed mourning of his sibling’s neglect was cut short by his door slamming open, and an aura of authority and self-importance flooded the room. Before he could completely register the dense smoke-smolder-fire energy, the covers were ripped off of him and thrown to the floor, scattered papers flying from the disturbance in the air.

“Get up!”

If Tobirama believed it possible to meet a spirit, this is what one would look like. Black mane wild and untamed, obsidian eyes burning, flashes of bone-white teeth. Voice booming, seeming to resonate through the small space, emotions near visceral around them. All he could do was stare up at him, eyes wide with shock and mouth agape. He would understand Hashirama being here, expected it at this point. The man had been insistent the last few days, forcing food and company both on him in short spurts - but Madara, in this house, this room, standing over him with a puffed chest and hands on his hips, an angry scowl as he towered above him.

Had he hit his head again? Was he hallucinating? Had he, at long last, lost the last threads of sanity keeping his mind from falling into pure lunacy?

Silence must not have been the correct response, because Madara’s was booming once more, voice as large as his chakra was hot.

“You’re taking a bath, and you’re getting dressed. I can smell you from here.” With an offended crinkle of his nose and a toss of his hair, he strode back to the doorway. But he paused there, palm flat on the wood frame, his back turned to Tobirama. The heat of his aura simmered down, and there was the barest hint of something to his tone, a suggestion so similar to concern - but Tobirama knew for sure he was imagining it. The Uchiha gained nothing by concerning himself with him.

“The water’s drawn and there’s clothes in the washroom for you. And hurry up!” The tart edge was back as he threw one last scowl over his shoulder, black eyes heavy on him. “Don’t make me do it for you!”

Tobirama was dumbstruck. From the audible snap of his mouth and the blooming red on his cheeks, Madara hadn’t at all meant to say that. He humphed and stormed down the hallway, steps a little hasty to not be a retreat.

It was quite possible he was also having auditory hallucinations. Possibly the only logical explanation. Either that, or Uchiha Madara, the man who hated him with all the intensity of an all-consuming curse, had just threatened to both bathe and clothe him like he was some contumacious child.

Struck with sudden fear, he scrambled out of the futon, rushing towards the washroom. The Uchiha were all prideful to an extreme fault - besides one curly haired child he knew - and it manifested in the worst possible ways. Even if he hadn’t meant to blurt that out, knowing his luck Madara wouldn't allow it to be an idle threat, and  _would_  attempt to bathe him - and they’d both forever be scarred from the experience.

Best not to test the man’s patience on this matter. Choosing one's battles and all that.

True to his word, the bath was drawn and waiting for him, steam hazing the air and filling his lungs. He peeled off his clothes, dropping them into a foul pile before seating himself on the bathing stool. It took several scrub downs to finally remove all the grime and days old sweat from his body, leaving his skin pink from the effort and feeling more like himself with each pass of the rag.

He grimaced at the rasp of his nails against his chin, and took the time to shave as well, glad to have that itch dealt with and gone. The white of his beard had never been a good look for him.

It felt wonderful to rinse himself clean at last, felt a little like scrubbing away some of his worries. He sank into the hot bath, content to push all failed tests and absent driftings from his mind for the next hour. The water was a bit hotter than he preferred, his head swimming ever so slightly from the temperature, but his muscles sang with joy as he relaxed further.

The heat brought up pleasant memories, of a little onsen just on the eastern border of Fire Country. It was one of the first out-of-village missions Team Tobirama had been assigned, and the very first Madara had entrusted Kagami to his care on, and he felt like treating his students to the bath house he had discovered there years before. The exuberant Uchiha boy had made a beeline for the personal tubs, throwing himself down into one and completely content to boil himself alive there.

He slid down in the tub, the tip of his nose just barely above the water. Uchiha were certainly mysterious creatures, oddities even amongst the various clans in Konoha. Perhaps they were descendants of some type of fire kami?

Best not to mention that theory to Madara. He lifted one leg out of the water, stretching his toes while he imagined the horror. The man would get a big head about it no doubt, and spread it as fact. Sage knows his ego didn’t need the inflating.

Speaking of things better left alone, he sunk further down, drowning out any thoughts of the man still invading his home. The last person he wanted to be thinking about while in a nice, hot bath was _Madara_. He shuddered and wrinkled his nose, feeling his modesty violated just from thinking about the man while still in the nude.

Not that the man was unattractive. Aesthetically speaking, his facial features were well sculpted, his wild mane rather singular, the deep tenor of his voice was pleasant enough when he managed to keep the volume at a reasonable level, and - oh sweet sage above, he was most certainly _not_ continuing this internal evaluation. Ever. Place it on mental hold and never to be revisited, lest he need find a way to bleach his own thoughts.

When his hands were pruned and the water lukewarm - and all unwelcome thoughts thoroughly purged from his treacherous mind - Tobirama got out and dried himself off the best he could. The mentioned clothes were waiting in a neat stack just outside the wet-room - though he was a bit horrified to find they were Hashirama’s clothes. The wrap shirt was easy enough to tuck and fit better, belt tight around his waist to keep it shut, but it still left his upper chest bare and unguarded. And there was little help for the pants. They weren’t even hakama - no belt to keep them tight and in place.

It occurred to him then that he must have lost some weight. He wasn’t that noticeably smaller, but the clothes were larger on him than they should be, pants falling loose on his hips. Then again, that is what happens when one stops eating - at least, eating an appropriate and healthy amount for one’s size anyway.

In the end, he rolled them up at the waist and left it at that, hoping for the best while leaving the washroom. From the flicker of irritation in his energy, Madara was getting impatient waiting for him. Though why the man was still here, busying himself in the kitchen no less, was beyond him. There was no telling what he might want from him now. But it was ultimately in his best interest to face the beast willingly than to wait for his temper to break. Perhaps the Uchiha merely wanted to be sure he had done as he had commanded of him.

Apparently, Madara had made it his goal to baffle him today.

“Eat.” He didn’t spare a glance towards the Senju walking into the kitchen, merely jabbed the saibashi towards the table and continued to focus on his cooking. Still not willing to test his luck but quite thoroughly confused, Tobirama sat down quietly, staring at the plate of food waiting for him. The omurice looked decent, and did smell nice - and a quick whiff said there was no obvious poison in it - but he was wary of trying it all the same. The large helping was a bit intimidating as well, his stomach queasy from just looking at it, from just thinking about eating so much all at once.

Silence stretched around them as they ate, Madara dropping into the cushion across from him to have his own breakfast. He noticed the Uchiha staring a few times, though the man was quick to jerk his head away when he was caught, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath, the barest tinge of color to his cheeks. Tobirama looked down, wondering if perhaps he had dropped some food, but never found any cause to stare at him.

Unless Madara was disturbed by how revealing the shirt was. If the man was simply being a prude, he would have to get over himself. He had laid the shirt out, after all, and Tobirama wasn't going to go through the effort of finding a different one just to spare his fragile ideas of decency.

If that's even why he was staring. It would take more than an army of intellects to understand the inner machinations of the man sitting before him.

Tobirama remained seated even after they were finished eating, watching Madara as he cleaned the dishes. He noticed something that had him frowning in thought, eyes baring into the back facing him. The dark tint to Madara's aura was absent - he hadn’t felt it once since he had arrived in this Konoha, busy as he'd been avoiding the man and sticking his nose into his research. It had been a constant back home, a shadow forever consuming the Madara that had betrayed his village, a festering wound in his energy that no amount of time could seem to heal.

Dangerous he may have been, but at least Tobirama knew how to deal with that Madara, knew how to predict him. This one, he wasn’t so sure about. What did he want, exactly? Why was he even in the same room as him? The man had hated him since Izuna’s death, and avoided all contact when he could. Blamed him for the lost of his last brother, despite them having been soldiers at war with one another.

Shinobi brought death with them everywhere. He could hardly feel guilty for killing an enemy. Even if he could sense the sorrow drowning him, his grief so visceral, anger and pain evident in his eyes every time their gazes met.

They had been enemies. Izuna would have done the same to him.

Tobirama's frown deepened, listening absently to the running water from the sink. Okay, so he felt a little guilty. Perhaps not for the death itself, not for killing his enemy, but for the way Madara had lived in the aftermath. Well, rather the way he  _hadn't_ lived at all.

The water shut off, and Madara turned back to him, wiping his hands dry with a floral hand-towel. He tossed it down on the counter and leveled Tobirama with an even glare, his jaw set firm in challenge as he spoke. “We’re going to the hokage tower.” When there was no argument, merely a questioning quirk of one white eyebrow, the Uchiha made his way out of the house, trusting the other man would follow.

Try as he might, he couldn’t think of a single reason for Madara, of all people, to drag him to the tower. The confusion only tripled when they walked straight passed the hokage’s office, heading down a hall he was certain he’d never been down before. At least they seemed to be headed toward Hashirama’s chakra signature, though the anxious hesitation clouding it was a bit concerning.

When they turned the corner, Tobirama spotted the source of crashing anxious energy, all six feet of him bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. He was standing in front of a doorway, next to an individual the younger Senju honestly didn’t recognize. Madara stopped there, not bother walking the rest of the way, pausing just long enough to jerk his head towards the two waiting before turning on his heel and marching off to do whatever the hell he did here.

As Tobirama approached, Hashirama turned to greet him, smiling so tight it resembled a grimace. “Tobira, this is Yamanaka Madoka.”

Now that he could look more closely, the lack of pupils definitely spoke of their namesake’s heritage - though the auburn hair was peculiar for their clan. The color was identical to Yasu’s, the retired Nara shinobi who he’d seen only a few weeks ago, and was a rare color to be found in Konoha. The Nara and Yamanaka clans were famously close-knit, so perhaps the two were related in some fashion?

Madoka stepped forward with a clipped bow of their head, cutting through Tobirama's inner appraisal. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you prefer I call you Senju-san or Tobirama-san?”

Tobirama tilted his head in question towards the other Senju, but kept the Yamanaka’s gaze as he answered. “Just Tobirama will do.”

With a nervous flap of his hands, Hashirama gestured towards the office they were all standing near. “This is Madoka’s office. They’re, well,” he scratched behind an ear, eyes focused on the ceiling as he continued. “They research a lot into psychology. Depression, rehabilitation, stuff like that. They helped me a lot with my drinking problem actually, and we thought…”

“And you thought what?” Even as he asked, Tobirama had a sinking feeling in the pit of his soul that he didn’t want to know.

The Yamanaka was the one to answer him, rolling one shoulder with a grimace at the movement. “Hokage-sama has expressed concern for your recent behavioral changes, specifically your lack of appetite, your hygiene routine, as well as excessive sleeping. We all thought it best if you speak with someone about these issues.”

Tobirama’s eyes widened further and further with dismay as they spoke. He had always known Hashirama was a dreadful gossip - not unheard of amongst shinobi when it involved other’s secrets, though apparently the Senju head was in a league all his own. But to air out his dirty laundry to this complete stranger…?

He was at an utter lack of words. He should have stayed in bed, refused to leave the house. Facing Madara's wrath would have been preferable to this horror.

“You don’t have to commit anything.” Hashirama rushed the words out with a desperate shake of his hands. “No one wants to force you, but, well, we all think it will do you some good. Just…try it for today?”

Talking to a stranger about his own issues was about as far removed from what he wanted to do as it could get. Still, those huge brown eyes were wide and far too convincing. Tobirama heaved a sigh, but gave a reluctant nod in the end.

“Fine. But just this once.” With a decisive glare towards the hokage, Tobirama went into the office, Madoka following after him.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps it was a bit childish of him, to stare at the Yamanaka and refuse to so much as say a word. Slouched down in the chair, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest, a deep set frown on his face.

He had been forced into this situation. Coerced, drug out of his futon and thrust at the doctor. Didn’t have a choice in the matter. And just because he agreed to see him didn’t mean he had to talk.

“I understand you might be reluctant to talk to anyone,” Madoka started. They crossed one leg at the ankle, relaxing back into a rather cushy looking chair, observing their company.

Tobirama merely huffed at that, somehow managing to resist rolling his eyes. Truly, this was an expert. Observant beyond their years. So worthy of praise.

After several minutes of this stalemate, with the Yamanaka patiently waiting with folded hands and Tobirama mulishly refusing to meet his gaze, Madoka relented with a shrug. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” With that, they reached behind their chair and grabbed a book off of the desk, flipping through it before settling down further in their chair.

That was definitely not expected of them. Tobirama watched them closely, too suspicious to believe they would simply let the matter go. Supposedly they were here to talk, after all.

When the only sound that broke the silence was the scratching of notes, he eventually broke with a blunt “What’s your game?”

Madoka glanced up at him, the end of a pen in their mouth. “There’s no game.”

“You said I don’t have to talk.” The disbelief was dripping through his words.

“And you don’t.” They rolled their shoulder once more, pausing to massage at the joint with another grimace. “It would honestly help if you did, and I wish you would, but I won’t push you.” After brushing the loose strands of auburn out of their face, Madoka went back to their book, seemingly content to lapse back into silence.

The quiet continued undisturbed for nearly an hour, with Tobirama becoming increasingly confused. After the hour passed, Madoka marked their place and snapped the book closed, getting up with a stretch. “Well, Tobirama-san, I don’t usually meet with anyone for much longer than this.” They strode across the office, opening the door and turning with a polite smile. “I have availabilities every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at this time. Of course, if that doesn’t work for you we can work something out.”

Tobirama stared up at him, beyond bewildered. He spoke slowly, as if that would force more sense into the situation. “You want me to come in here and sit while you read?”

“I’d like for you to meet with me and talk.” They were blunt, honest, but their posture still showed their hesitance on pushing the issue. “But, like I said, I won’t make you. Just come and sit, bring a book if you wish. Hokage-sama did say you liked to study.”

They seemed genuine about the offer, and serious about not being pushy. And, if he was being honest with himself, Tobirama knew his behavior as of late was far from healthy. Getting out would do him good, as would speaking to an actual person instead of aloud to himself - most importantly, it would get Hashirama off of his case; by extension, Madara would probably leave him alone as well, though sage only knows why the man was drug into this to begin with.

All things considered, it would do him more good than bad to come speak with Madoka. He stood up with a brief nod, assuring the Yamanaka that he would be back in a few days. On the way out, he made sure to stop by the hokage’s office. The look of sheer relief on Hashirama’s face was worth the absolute drain the day had been on Tobirama, and the younger Senju walked back to their house feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been interested in flowers or flower language. Why are so many of my stories incorporating them lately?  
>   
> Flower language:  
> Carnations - Health and energy when mixed in color.  
> Morning glories - In Japan, willful promises. In other cultures, spiritual longing, as well as duality and loving in vain.  
> Anemone - Fragility, being forsaken, or estranged.  
> Aloe - Grief and sorrow in some cultures, healing and protection in others.  
>   
> Character Names:  
> Yamanaka Madoka (円花) - Roughly means "circle flower." Is a gender neutral name.  
>   
> Misc. Terminology:  
> Saibashi - Cooking chopsticks. They are significantly longer than those used for eating.  
> Omurice - A sweet and savory dish consisting of fried rice and omelet. Usually topped with ketchup.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Uchiha Secret Weapon™ is unleashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone traveling this upcoming week: Stay safe, and have a wonderful holiday!
> 
> I've had so little motivation lately that I'm honestly surprised this chapter even got finished. Sorry if it's not as polished as usual. I might go back and fix it later.

Tobirama gave a polite knock on the dark wood, running his other hand absently through the soft fur clasped around his neck. The hokage's chipper voice answered a moment later, bright even muffled as it was, bidding him enter, and the office clicked shut behind him as it swung shut. One glance up had him pausing, hand still on the cool metal of the doorknob. Instead of Hashirama in his dumb hat and white robes, Madara sat behind the office desk, hunched over some paperwork in his usual black high-collar, reading glasses perched at the tip of his nose. His hair was tied back, loose strands and thick locks looping towards the ponytail inefficiently holding it out of his face.He didn’t so much as glance up from the missive he was working on, and Tobirama did his best to ignore him in kind, turning to search for the actual hokage.

Wait, was that  _Belladonna_  potted next to the desk?

He shook his head, spotting Hashirama at the opposite end of the office. The man was surrounded by sprawling plants, potted flowers, small trees - there were even plants hanging from the ceiling, stems and leaves reaching down and brushing against Tobirama’s head as he passed under them towards the one who had sent the summons.

One would think the office of the highest elected official would look less like a greenhouse. Though, considering _who_ had been elected, it was hardly a surprising discovery. He was more botanist than politician at this point, tan hands gentle on the stocks of some tulips and wallflowers, soft praises murmured as he tended the gold-yellow flowers.

“You’re aware you’re speaking with plants, right?” Perhaps he was laying the snark on a little thick, but he couldn’t stop himself from adding the obvious, “They aren’t going to talk back.”

“I know.” Hashirama looked unbothered by the dry observation, busy as he was with his gardening. A genuine and content smile crinkled the corners of his eyes as he glanced up from his spot on the floor. “Speaking to them helps them grow.”

A loud snort of laughter came from across the room. Hashirama shot his best kicked-puppy pout at his friend, who either couldn't see the look from that angle or was an experienced master in ignoring it. Both of them missed Tobirama’s eyes roll.

Hashirama turned back to his flowers with a hurt puff of air, starting to pick off dead leaves and stems. As he moved to the potted wallflowers, scooting across the floor, some buds and blooms were snipped away with a letter opener, leaving the plant bare of color, only dark green stalks and leaves left standing. It was a bit perplexing, watching him strip away the yellow blooms, and against his better judgment he found himself reluctantly asking, “Why are you cutting the blooms off?”

“Sometimes, flowers bud too soon.” Hashirama hummed as he finished snipping away, placing all the fallen petals back in the pot, laying bright against the rich soil. “They can’t keep both the blooms and the plant alive when they do, so I cut them off.” He leaned forward, rubbing a thumb over one leaf as he spoke softly to the flowers once more. “Grow strong and tall first, little one. Then you can bloom and shine like the rest.”

It was hard to ignore how endearing his silly habits were. Tobirama had missed seeing his own Hashirama like that: gentle smiles, soft eyes, content and happy sitting his hand-grown gardens and herbs. Seeing it right now had Tobirama surprisingly nostalgic for the few years before Konoha had been founded; the war had been rough on them all, but the two brothers had never been closer, fighting the counsel of elders side-by-side, worrying over clan affairs, training constantly together.

The spike of grief from their separation hit him, perhaps not for the first time but hard all the same. He cleared his throat, both as a distraction and to gain the hokage’s attention. “You sent a summons.” If his voice was a bit rougher than normal, no one commented on it.

“Ah, yes.” Hashirama pushed himself up from his pots, brushing his hands together to dust off the dirt collected there. He walked back to his desk, peering over Madara’s shoulder - well, more laying flat against the man and pressing the man near onto the desk with his weight. The Uchiha ended up shooing him away, shoving a scroll into his hand and griping at him about personal space. The scroll was snatched up, and Hashirama didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed of invading his personal bubble as he pranced away to stand next to his brother.

“I sent that letter to Touka two months ago, remember?” Tobirama nodded, though he did his best to not remember the circumstances that lead to said letter. Meeting with Madoka twice a week since then had vastly improved his mental health, and had given some much needed clarity on the situation - and he was more than a little ashamed of how bad it had all gotten before Madara had deemed to intervene, though that was still something that perplexed him beyond measure even after months to think on the matter.

Madoka would scold him for being ashamed of how far he'd fallen, of course, but it didn’t stop him from thinking it. Even knowing he would not have judged another in the same situation didn’t make him any easier on himself.

“Well, she finally wrote back.” Tobirama’s took the offered scroll, skimming through the contents. The barely legible chicken scratch laid to rest any worries it wasn’t from Touka at the very least. She wrote that Uzushio, the village she lived in now, had been fighting off a siege for quite some time now, and had just recently stove off the enemy for good. There was apparently a significant amount of structural damage that required immediate attention, and more than a few casualties, but the village would survive even without aid from Konoha - though Tobirama doubted Hashirama wouldn’t send some despite of that. It seemed she also had plans to visit sometime in the future, though she wasn’t sure when, since her village needed her help rebuilding.

The specific phrasing had Tobirama pausing, staring unfocused at the scroll for a moment. Touka had called Uzushio _her_ village. It was certainly odd, at the very least, for his cousin to call any village hers other than Konoha, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. Instead of analyzing the uncertain feeling, he rolled the scroll back up and passed it back.

Though, if she called Uzushio home, and planned to visit Konoha anyway…

“May I write her back?” Uzushio had a wealth of sealing knowledge, after all, being the greatest known source of fuinjutsu world-wide. Even if this Mito was unfamiliar with him, Touka might be willing to bring some texts at his request. Reading some of the theories might be just what he needs to jog his memory on his hiraishin mishap.

Hashirama seemed a tad taken aback by his request, but smiled brightly as he answered. “Of course! I planned to send a letter back by Friday, so just have it by then?” He sounded a bit relieved then; Tobirama didn’t comment on that, only nodding in reply. The hokage rocked on his heels, glancing thoughtfully up at one plant hanging right next to him, reaching up to untangle some of the stems. “You know, I’ve actually been thinking.”

“It’s about damn time,” Madara didn’t miss a beat with his snark. It was met with confused blinking of wide-brown eyes, Hashirama’s head tilted at the remark. He waved the confusion away, pen gripped in his hand, not willing to explain his insult at the moment. It took a bit of effort for Tobirama to hold in his snort at the comment, seeing how it flew right over the idiot's head.

“Yeah,” Hashirama frowned, still confused, but back to his brother anyway. “I’ve talked a bit with Madoka about how you’ve been doing. Not anything specific!” The last bit was rushed out, hands up defensively at the angry disbelief on his brother’s face, “Just that you’ve been better, improving, you know?”

Tobirama shot a horrified look in the Uchiha’s direction. This conversation was absolutely not happening right now. And in front of Madara? His horror didn’t go unnoticed, as Hashirama continued in a much lower voice, “Madara’s the one who recommended me to Madoka, you know, as well as you.” The wide-eyed stare was turned on the brunet, who smiled kindly in turn, the edges of his warm face softening even further. “He doesn’t think less of anyone for reaching out.”

There was some grumbling from Madara as he hunched forward further, the slightest tint of pink on his cheeks before he hid his face behind a quickly snatched up report.

“But anyway,” his volume returned to normal as he continued, scratching nervously at the back of his neck, “We were talking, and they suggested it might be good for you to get more involved in the village.”

They were right, he knew that. Still, Tobirama sighed deeply, his lips pressed thin in hesitation. Even if it would be good for his mental health, it wasn’t necessarily good all around to get any more invested in this world. Living with the carbon copy of his brother was hard enough, a constant reminder of how distant and cold the relationship with his real brother had become in comparison. It was already going to hurt when he went back to the real, distant version of him.

Though it would be a good refresher for his political skills. Months had passed since he last filled out so much as a mission report, let alone wrote a proposal or looked over a missive, gave a speech to the council, did some budgeting. The extra practice could only help.

He deliberated it for a minute longer, giving a light shrug before answering. “I’m skilled in politics.” He doubted Hashirama didn’t know that already, but the reminder would hurt any.

Hashirama went uncharacteristically still, brown eyes hard and a stern, clipped tone. “It’s for the best if you stay out of politics for now.” His mouth was a tight line, and Tobirama could only give a short nod, confused and a bit stunned by the sudden shift in the hokage.

His entire being instantly relaxed back to normal at the nod, a brilliant smile shinning as he leaned forward, hands clasped behind his back. “I was actually thinking you could take some students. There are a few who still need a teacher.”

It wasn’t that surprising an offer. Tobirama managed to keep his expression level as he considered it, looking passed Hashirama to the rooftops out the window. Teaching was something he’d always been passionate about. Sharing his knowledge with the newer generations was fulfilling, and a reminder that there was a future ahead of them - that there was a world beyond their losses.

But, he had a team. Hiruzen, Homura, and Koharu - Team Tobirama, as well as the rest of his pupils, were all waiting for him back home.

The indecision must have been evident on his face, because Hashirama stepped forward, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. He squeezed it lightly, a kind warmth in his voice. “You don’t have to decide right now. Just give it some thought, okay?”

“I will.” He left the office with a short farewell, the pros and cons whirling through his mind as he made his way back home.

 

* * *

 

“How can you stand it that hot?”

Madara laughed at his bewildered expression, digging his heels into the sand and raking it over his legs. This particular section of the sunamushi was blessedly hot, his skin reddening from the heat after less than a minute in the dry bath. Hashirama was perched at the edge of a nearby pit, wriggling his toes in the cooler sand, not willing to scorch his skin or blister alongside his friend.

It was early Saturday morning, and the sentō was by no means empty, but the other customers gave them a wide enough berth as usual. They were left in relative privacy - as private as one could get in a popular public bath house, anyway - the pleasant atmosphere welcome after the long week of stuffy meetings with the foreign dignitaries visiting from Tea Country. Honestly, how people from _Tea Country_ could be so dry and boring was a true mystery.

Hashirama kicked some of the sand, not hard enough to get it out of the pit. The actual onsen here was wonderful, and the minerals always left him feeling light and cheery for days. It was much preferable over this more dusty bath. But Madara loved the dry heat, so they came to this portion first.

The long beige yukata hissed against the sand as he stretched one leg, tucking it under him after a pleasant pop of his knee. Madara apparently indulged in sunamushi every time he went to Suna, which certainly explained why he so readily accepted missions to that dreadfully place. Once his friend had discovered this sentō so close to home, he had gushed about the place, and had practically dragged Hashirama here with him the very next weekend.

He pouted a bit, sneaking a peek over at his companion, who had somehow managed to bury himself all the way up to his chin. At least they would move to the actual baths after this. The onsen was a much more reasonable temperature than these desert holes, and water was much nicer to his naturally dry skin. Mabye Tobirama would be willing to share some of his lotion again.

A sudden fit of giggles hit him, amusement splitting his face wide. He twisted to look back at Madara, the man giving him a bored look that suggested quite heavily he had lost it. It only made him grin wider.

“So, I told Tobirama to meet me at the training grounds today.”

“Oh?” His friend managed to seem at least a little curious, though it was obviously forced. “And when are you supposed to meet him?”

Hashirama felt absolutely devious as he answered. “About an hour ago.”

The edges of his mouth were tugged down as he sat up, sand falling off of him. He brushed the rest off as he spoke, though quite a bit still made it inside the loose yukata. “And you dragged me here instead.”

“He thinks we’re training together,” Hashirama hummed out, kicking his feet in feigned innocence. He leaned back on his palms, long hair falling behind him as he glanced back over his shoulder. “I might have invited some genin to train with us.”

Dawning realization and disbelief colored his words. “You didn’t.”

A cheeky grin accompanied his reply. “I told them they’d be meeting their sensei today.”

Madara huffed lightly in left over disbelief, before a wicked grin split his face. “That’s so wrong.” He sounded proud.

As expected, it took only a moment for Hashirama to be overcome with guilt. He twisted back around with a deep frown and worried eyes, poking at the lined tiles he was seated on. “He’ll probably say no to teaching them, but those two are pretty stubborn. If anyone could convince him, it would be them...” His lower lip jutting out into a full pout as he traced patterns on the floor. “I didn’t think he’d meet with them unless I lied. He’s never much cared for children. Do you think I'm a bad brother?”

“You should find out when he plans to train them.” He didn’t pay any attention to the fretting, knowing he'd be over it in a minute or so - and really not caring about his brat's plight either. In Madara’s honest opinion, the demon could use some time with the bull-headed kids. It would do him good.

The casual nature of the statement might have fooled some, but Hashirama knew that look. He scooted a bit closer, tucking his legs up away from the sand pit as he leaned closer. “What are you planning?”

“You mentioned you only found two students so far.” To all the world he was not invested in the conversation, picking the sand out from under his nails. “It just so happens I know an Uchiha boy in need of a teacher.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Tobirama had been improving lately, there was no question there, but he had still been the biggest advocate for the Uchiha-Senju war. He didn’t want to think his baby brother could hurt any child, especially while at peace. But trusting him with an Uchiha boy? Hashirama shook his head, just the thought of it making him anxious.

“He’ll be fine.” Madara sounded like he had all the confidence Hashirama didn’t have, which made him relax at least a little. He stood up and stretched then, yanking at his top knot to free the mess of hair as he stepped out of the scorching pit. There was a mischievous glint to his eye as he glanced back over one shoulder, motioning for his friend to follow. “He has to get used to us eventually, and what better way then through our secret weapon?”

At those words, the two couldn't help but devolve into childish snickering, making their way towards the baths, plotting against the younger brother like they were twelve again.

 

* * *

 

He'd been set up.

It had been a moment of weakness the night before that led to this. Huge, watery brown eyes staring at him over their home-made soba, pleading with him. Practice would do him good, he said. There was only so much one could improve on sparring on their own.

Waking up to a quiet house should have been his first clue. Hashirama was by no means a late sleeper, but didn't quite rise with the sun as he did himself. But instead of questioning why he'd gotten up earlier than usual, he'd simply assumed the brunet was already at the training grounds, and had quickly eaten the breakfast left out for him and left to join him.

His second clue should have been the empty training field. It was one he'd been assured most people avoided, used mainly by Hashirama and the Uchiha when they needed to blow off some steam. That, at least, had been true enough. There were random trees grown haphazardly across the field, and he had to jump over the occasional deep trench as he made his way to the clearest section. But he was a trusting man, had simply begun his stretching and warm-ups, planning to give Hashirama a thorough lecture on cleaning up the field after practice and not leaving it in such a state of disarray in the future.

He hadn't even thought much of it when a girl had shown up, propping herself in a tree, feet dangling below her as she watched him from the perimeter. It was only after a familiar tuft of brown hair and an upturned noses joined her that he started to get suspicious.

This particular training area only being used by a select few had been a direct parallel to his own Konoha, a small comfort when so much was different. And yet here were two teens, shinobi metal untarnished and shinning on their foreheads, invading the space and watching him carefully.

It had only started to dawn on him what had happened when the two began to approach him, Danzo marching the lead with the yet unknown girl following behind at her own leisurely pace.

"Senju Tobirama-sama?" Just as he'd remembered, the boy was puffed up with self-importance, making himself seem as large as possible as he stood before him. Tobirama relaxed out of his kata stance slowly, giving a brief jerk of his head as he eyed the both of them.

"Hokage-sama says you're pretty good." She eyed him critically right back, dark eyes scrutinizing his posture. He shrugged one shoulder in lieu of a response, still racking his brain as to why these two would be speaking with him. The girl gave a thoughtful hum of air, nodding her head as if in approval before stretching one arm behind her head. "So, sensei," and the pieces finally clicked together, Tobirama grinding his teeth together as she continued, "what are we going to learn today?"

And, honestly, it wouldn't  _really_ be murder if Hashirama deserved it.

"I'm not your sensei." His tone was a bit harsh, but he couldn't help the anger leaking out. He was furious. Beyond furious. He hadn't agreed to teach anyone - hadn't honestly made up his mind on the matter, too torn between knowing he shouldn't and his burning desire to teach and protect the youth. And the  _gall_ of that man, tricking him into this,  _betraying_ his trust and  _using_ his guilt over their distant relationship against him?

It actually didn't matter if it would be murder. He was going to kill him. Beat the false innocence right out of his dumb face.

The girl tilted her head back, meeting the fury in his eyes with no fear. She didn't so much as flinch as he tried to stare her down, not a hint of anything besides calm confidence in her black eyes. Next to her, Dazno was starting to twitch impatiently, clearly ready to explode at any moment.

"What do you mean, you're not our sensei?" Sure enough, his fuse ran short and he blurted the words out. Tobirama broke his staring contest, ignoring the girl's smug look as he did so. "You said you were Senju Tobirama."

Tobirama was surprised that petulant tone wasn't accompanied by childish stomping. He shut his eyes tight with an exasperated exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose and praying to any god that might listen to lend him patience. "Yes, I am, but-"

"And, according to the hokage," the girl interrupted, innocently playing with the ends of the tight braids that wound around her head to hand off one side, "Senju Tobirama is our new team leader. So, sensei," she pronounced each syllable slowly, her smile far too sweet, "what are we learning today?"

His eye twitched. This was not happening. He ran a palm across his face, gripping the hair at the back of his head as he took a deep, calming breath. Patience. These two were not at fault here. Snapping at him would do no one any favors. He could, and would, take his frustration out later on the actual culprit.

"I didn't agree to take on any students." Reason was his best weapon here, as always, though he knew well enough from experience how stubborn Danzo could be about getting his way.

It was surprising, then, to see him standing back for once, watching his companion as if waiting to see her response. To her credit, she did at least take a moment to consider his words. She played absently with the wooden beads woven into her hair as she mulled them over. "So, you don't have any right now."

It was with no small amount of relief that he nodded, the tension gone from his shoulders as her supposed acceptance. "That's correct, yes."

"And you're not busy at the moment?"

He narrowed his eyes. Apparently not, then. Knowing exactly where she was going with this, he gritted out, "No, I'm not."

"Great!" She clasped her hands behind her back, grinning up at him. "So you can help us then."

"No, I'm not teaching you." He'd liken this all to arguing with children, but, well,  _that's exactly what he was doing_. He crossed his arms firm over his chest, determined to stand his ground on the issue. It crossed his mind briefly that he didn't have to argue anything; it would be simple enough to walk away from this, perhaps find Hashirama and give him that pummeling he so deserved. But such logic quickly fled him in the face of bull-headed stubbornness.

"But you just said you weren't busy." Danzo butted in at last, huffing indignantly. "Can't you make time for us?"

Tobirama groaned, letting his head fall back to stare at the sky. It was just his luck, honestly. Being stuck arguing with the two most stubborn...genin? He peeked back down at them, once again taking in their polished hitai-ate, the soft leather of their weapon holsters, their movements and posture. They weren't complete novices, of course, but he would be willing to bet neither of them had seen real battle yet - or, rather, been a part of one. And, really, it was only one afternoon. A few hours at most. Such a minuscule amount of time hardly meant anything in the grand scheme of things, and was hardly a betrayal to his own team back home.

He was loathe to admit it, but one afternoon wouldn't kill him. "Fine. But this is the-"

"Yes!" She jumped around with a triumphant fist raised high, excitement gleaming in her eyes. "Sensei, should we start with our kata, or stretch first?"

"Don't call me sensei."

His words were drowned out as she continued, clapping a firm hand on her teammate's shoulder. "Oh, this is Danzo," she slapped a hand to her own chest then, "and I'm Kasumi."

"Start with your stretches." He shook his head, resigning himself to an afternoon with the two hellions. At the twin responses of "Yes, sensei," he snapped again, "And stop calling me that!"

Danzo, bless that child, gruffed out a corrected, "Yes, Senju-sama," before moving to a safe distance and starting his stretches.

He hadn't meant to stay long, really, just long enough to placate the eager genin. But Danzo's kata was stilted and clearly ill-practiced, and Kasumi's form was such a unique mix of Kiri, Kumo, and Konoha styles that he needed to help her mix them effectively. Before he knew it, it was well passed noon, the midday sun beating down on them and making him almost regret clipping on his fur that morning.

"So, Senju-sama," Danzo peered over at him after he called an end to their session, both of the genin out of breath and puffing from their hours of work. "Will you come help us tomorrow?"

He scowled over at the Shimura boy, stretching an arm to work out a sore knot in his shoulder. "No. I'm not teaching you."

The two teammates shared a silent conversation with a single look. It was obvious from that one gesture how well they could potentially work together, and Tobirama allowed himself a moment to lament not being able to foster that relationship - before sternly reminding himself that he  _had_ a team, and needed to focus on getting back to them, not dawdle around here instead.

"That's fine, sensei." He resisted the urge to snap once again at the title, choosing instead to send a nasty glare in her direction. "I was planning on practicing some new ninjutsu tomorrow. Large ones." She shrugged, all feigned nonchalance as she scratched at some dirt on her arm. "It's probably best no one's around. Just in case."

He knew he was being played. They both left him with short but polite farewell, leaving him to head home and promptly slam the guest room door in his brother's stupid face, tuning out the pathetic wails about how sorry the idiot was for tricking him.

Still knew full well she had played him even as he leaned against a rather beat up tree, pointedly staring away from the two manipulative children as Kasumi pranced over to him.

He practically snarled at her when she asked her usual question, a cheeky grin on her face. "What are we learning today, sensei?"

 

* * *

 

It had taken a few weeks to convince Kagami's guardian that, yes, he was indeed talking about  _that_ Tobirama, and, no, their clan head had not lost his "ever-loving mind." All that effort, and the many hours stuck meeting with that stuffy elder, at least seemed slightly worth it now as he collected the energetic child to make his way to the training grounds.

The boy prattled away nonsense as they marched through town. Some story about Izuna's domestic furry critters, though Madara wasn't paying enough attention to be certain of the topic. He was busy steeling himself, running through a mental checklist of reasons this was for the best, readying himself for the battle of both wit and will that was about to commence.

Senju Tobirama was going to teach Uchiha Kagami. The demon didn't have a choice in the matter. It would tie their clans closer together, a clear bonus there. Kagami had a water affinity, perhaps the only one in the entirety of the Uchiha clan (though his fire affinity was still stronger), and the Senju clan heir was the strongest suiton user this side of the Water Country border - and could probably give most suiton users north of the border a run for their money.

Madara's face hardened as they approached the training grounds, setting his jaw firm and head high. Tobirama had been a political nightmare for his brother in the past. If the man was going to change, and he needed to, what better Uchiha to use than the epitome of sunshine and bubbly energy that was the boy currently bouncing beside him.

The two supposedly most bull-headed genin were already being lectured at, from the sounds of it on the benefits and importance of each specific stretch in their warm-up, their reluctant sensei's back to the Uchiha has they approached. Madara recognized the Shimura boy from the brief contact they'd had when setting up the clan's compound, but the girl was not a familiar face. She had the sharp teeth of a Kiri nin, but the dark of her complexion suggested she was descended from Kumo shinobi. Perhaps some mix of both then?

It was clear the instant Tobirama knew Madara hadn't come alone. The muscles in his back stiffened, and there was an infinitesimally small catch to his words as he finished his explanation. When he turned to face the two Uchiha, the hesitance was written all over the slow of his movements.

Madara had expected anger. Had prepared for a heated argument, spat words and threats and even the potential of a thrown fist. He had prepared argument after counter-argument to bull over what was sure to be violent opposition.

This was definitely not on the list of reactions he had prepared for.

Vulnerable. That was the only way Madara could think to describe that look. Those red eyes stared down at Kagami, his jaw just noticeably slack, shoulders tense as if waiting for an attack he was wholly unprepared for. The struck-deer look was near identical to ones Hashirama had sent him before, and it was like staring at a bleached copy of his best friend.

His mouth went dry at the comparison, for the first time presented with indisputable evidence that the white demon was so closely related to perhaps the most forgiving man in existence. He placed a firm hand on his charge's shoulder, steadying his own nerves before speaking. "This brat needs a team." He cleared his throat, making sure to sound more firm as he continued. "Looks like you've got a free spot."

The boy was entirely unphased by the incredulous stare he was receiving, all big smiles and dimples as he bounced on one foot, using the other to scratch the back of his shin. "You're the hokage's little brother, right?" The response was a dazed nod, and he chattered right on, "My name's Kagami, it's nice to meet you, sensei!" He leaned to the side to wave enthusiastically at his former classmates.

Tobirama flinched, and Madara only caught the movement because he was studying him. It took a moment for him to respond to the boy, his teeth tearing into the skin of his lower lip, turning it red. "Yeah." He cleared his throat, blinking rapidly and swallowing hard. "Yes, of course. It's nice to meet you as well, Kagami-kun."

"Wait, why can  _he_ call you sensei?" The Shimura boy stompled over, all puffed up and insulted, glaring in offense from where he stood at the man's elbow. Tobirama barely turned his head in his direction, ruby eyes focused on the newest addition to his team, still full to the brim with emotions Madara couldn't quite identify. "You'll take him on but not us?"

"I'm not..." He didn't finish his thought, white brows pinched and his voice quiet.

"I thought you were going to be my team." Kagami scratched the back of his neck, nose crinkled in confusion. "That's what Mada-ojii said, anyway."

"Oi, brat!" Madara tore his gaze away from the albino with a jerk of his head, bristling as he ground a knuckle into the boy's head. "I told you not to call me that!"

For a boy who'd just been scolded, he was smiling an awful lot.

Danzo had been looking between the three of them, a thoughtful frown pulling at his mouth. "So, does that mean we're a team? You'll be our sensei?" He might have tried to hide it, but there was no masking the wishful hope in his words. Tobirama just nodded numbly in turn, the lot of them wordlessly ignoring the singsonged "I told you" from the girl still dutifully practicing her kata only a few meters away.

The entire situation had Madara dumbstruck with its oddities. This was in no way how he thought any of this would happen. Kagami had meanwhile busied himself socializing with his new team, getting a firm grip on the Shimura boy's wrist before tugging him along towards their other teammate. As the new sensei turned to watch them, Madara took the opportunity to study him further.

Hashirama was perhaps a world-class overstater, but he had been nothing if not serious about his brother. How little the man had cared for the youth, refusing to teach any of the younger Senju and sneering at the ones brave enough to ask for his guidance.

There was nothing in the man before him to suggest he hated children. His tone as they had approached had been firm, matter-of-fact, but far from stern or impatient as he had explained his movements. The students had yet to run crying to their hokage as well, so there was hardly any abuse happening. Most telling, and by far the most baffling, was how he stared at the three now - if Madara was correct, which he was most always, there was a definite hint of fondness towards his bungling pupils.

Had this not been the man who swore to wipe out the Uchiha clan? Named them nothing more than a blight spreading across their country, infecting the lang? The one who had near started a revolt against his own brother, who would have surely succeeded if not for the sudden nature of his death?

This whole situation had his head spinning, and he had every intention of picking Hashirama's brain for answers. He cleared his throat, gaining the albino's attention once more. "Well then. I've got things to do. Very busy." He waved his hand as if in explanation, not bothering to stick around for any potential questions. The man didn't need to know how free his schedule was at the moment.

His departure was still interrupted. "You're not going to watch?"

The words were blurted out in what sounded like shock, and it had Madara full stopping in his own kind of confusion. The thought of sticking around hadn't even crossed his mind. And, if that wasn't surprising enough, Tobirama bothering to point it out in something other than a sneer had him thoroughly bewildered.

"I figured you could at least handle teaching on your own." He phrased it like a statement, not the question that it so clearly was. At least, he hoped he did. Was that why he was so easily walking away now? Leaving one of his own clan's young in the care of the  _white demon_ , scourge of the war, who had fought tooth and nail to kill Izuna?

Who had been struck absolutely helpless in the face of a shinning Uchiha boy, deer-eyed confusion in those deep ruby eyes. Face open and vulnerable, white hair wind tossed and sweat-stuck to his red-marked cheeks. Chiseled jaw slack, muscles tensing under the thin, form-fitting material of his training gear-

Madara tripped mid-step as his brain caught up with its own thoughts, cursing as he knocked straight into a fellow shinobi. He sent the poor man scurrying away with a withering glare, channeling all of his abject horror into anger and projecting it out as a personal shield against the stupidity of the world as he stormed his way back to the Uchiha complex.

Senju Tobirama. The white demon.  _Hashirama's brat_ , attractive? Pah! Hardly.

He rubbed at his temple, groaning in disbelief at his own thoughts, kicking his front door shut behind him. Perhaps that Aburame man might be interested in another night together. It would hardly be difficult to seduce him for a third time - and it had clearly been far too long since his last romp if his thoughts were devolving about  _him_. Tonight, however, he planned to do the exact opposite of what he always preached at Hashirama and went straight for the liquor stashed away in one of his bottom cabinets. A shot or two before noon wouldn't hurt anyone if he didn't admit to it ever happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:  
> Kohaku Kasami (霞) - Means "mist" or "haze"  
>   
> Terminology:  
> Sentō (銭湯) - A communal bath house. Different from an onsen, which refers specifically to baths drawn from hot springs. Customers pay to bathe here.  
> Sunamushi (砂むし or 砂蒸し) - A hot sand bath. The sand is usually heated geothermically, just like onsen.  
>   
> Flower Language:  
> Belladonna (Deadly Nighshade) - Beguiling or silence  
> Yellow tulips - Sunshine in your smile, or hope, or one-sided love  
> Wallflowers - Faithfulness in adversity  
>   
> Misc: Info:  
> Tobirama doesn't have his original team (Team Tobirama) because they already have a sensei in this universe. I just decided that Danzo didn't have a sensei yet, cause why not, and created two new characters as well - and he gets Kagami because Madara likes pulling strings.  
>   
> And yes, Anon. We forever stan mental health, healing, and representation :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madoka needs a vacation, Tobirama considers himself a coward, and, if Hashirama really does decide to kill him, at least Izuna's lived a good life so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck, I didn't think I'd make this one.

“Have you heard of the multi-verse theory?”

Madoka looked up from their book, pausing the notes they were scribbling in the margins. It was identical to the many stacked high on their desk, to all the world another dry read: research results, sociological studies, theories on the inner workings of the conscious mind. Really, whoever decided scholarly works should bore their readers to tears was beyond wrong and bordering on sadistic.

As it were, it wasn’t a highly polished book on the mind anyway. It was hardly the first time they had snuck some poetry reading into their busy work hours, and it most definitely wouldn’t be the last either.

It also wasn’t the first time Tobirama had spoken up during their bi-weekly meetings. The hokage’s brother was a scholar himself, though he seemed to focus more on jutsu craft and theory, especially where fuinjutsu was involved. Madoka wasn’t personally well informed on the sealing arts, and knew they weren’t of much help on the subject, but their…well, they were hesitant to call Tobirama their patient. Perhaps study companion? There companion of sorts would occasionally theorize aloud during his visitations, and even asked for second opinions when he thought Madoka could add much of anything to the conversation.

Still, this particular question felt a bit…different. Tobirama’s tone and posture were both casual and relaxed, for sure. His back was pressed into his chair, feet crossed beneath him, a novel of some variety laid open in his lap as he thumbed through it lazily. It was normal for him to seem so at ease - the quiet of Madoka’s office was agreeable enough for him nowadays.

What _was_ rather odd was how he continued to stare down at his book, as if not entirely invested in the conversation, or even interested in Madoka’s opinion. Odd, for a man so fascinated by anything remotely related to his sciences. Usually his eyes would be bright and focused, his body leaning forward subconsciously. When he truly got going, he had a habit of fiddling with the corners of his papers or books, folding them back with his nails until the paper shredded apart under the ministrations.

So, yeah, none of that. His body might be lax at the moment, but he was entirely too _still_. He was in complete control at the moment, completely conscious of his movements.

Madoka chewed thoughtfully on the cap of their quill pen, playing off like they were pondering the question and not observing the other man so closely. With an absent hum they marked their place with a finger, flipping the collection of renga closed for the moment.

“I’ve heard of it, yes, though the theoretical sciences are more the focus of Nara, not Yamanaka.” They kept their gaze on the painting behind Tobirama, studying him without actually looking at him. More to see the reaction than hear the answer, they asked, “Do you subscribe to the theory?”

It was certainly a feat, looking so stiff and relaxed all at once. He probably would have fouled most anyone with his acting, but even amongst the Yamanaka, Madoka was exceptional at recognizing behavioral patterns. They kept their tongue, however. There was no need to call Tobirama on his false expressions. Pointing out that he was being disingenuous would only alienate him further, after all, and they had come quite a way since their first meeting.

“I do, actually.” That tone was genuine, if tinged with surprise; Madoka turned to study him head-on, finding his company hesitating to meet his gaze. “I’ve done a bit of reading into the theory, and have found little to disprove it.”

Madoka tilted their head, storing their pen behind an ear. “Still, it would be rather difficult to prove one traveled to another universe.” And that was the difficulty here. One could argue themselves blue over the possibilities, but no one could _prove_ it was true. Not until such travel was documented and proved as 100% fact, the only possible explanation for what had been documented.

“But do you think it’s possible?”

He was finally looking back at them. There was a guarded edge to his eyes, and Madoka had the distinct impression they were being tested. On what, they couldn’t quite tell, and they had to resist the urge to fidget. Instead, they uncrossed one leg to stretch out the joints, recrossing it with a short sigh.

“Like you said, I’ve found little evidence to disprove the theory.” Madoka tucked some loose hair back behind an ear, used to the fine strands slipping their way out of their usual ponytail. “I doubt we’ll be able to prove it one way or the other in our lifetimes, thought.” They tapped their thumb against their book, pausing for a moment before asking, “Is there a specific reason you’ve brought it up, Tobirama-san?”

Tobirama pressed himself further back into his chair, crossing his arms. He took his time, eyes flickering back and forth as he stared down at the floor, shifting through his thoughts. When he did respond, it was with a defeated sigh and a stiff hand through his hair.

Whatever Madoka had expected, they weren’t sure. It certainly wouldn’t have been the story they heard, nor the obvious pain thick in Tobirama’s eyes as he told it. After the heaviest conversation the two would probably ever share, and a visit that lasted well over an hour beyond their usual time frame, Madoka sent the man on his way with his homework, deciding that this weekend was most definitely going to be a family weekend. And if Yasu wasn’t up for her half-sibling visiting, well, she’d just have to get over herself.

 

* * *

 

Tobirama left Madoka’s office feeling drained, and leaned against the door for a moment, his head resting against the cool wood at his back. The window opposite the office was cracked despite the cooling weather, a crisp breeze rustling the multi-colored leaves outside. Autumn was creeping over Konoha slow this year; the ginkgo leaves had yet to turn, but the oaks were all yellow and red, some near purple as they littered the streets and rooftops.

He had finally told someone. Had admitted it, out loud, that he was an impostor. He knew logically that he could trust Madoka, but it still left his heart a bit frantic to know they held that information now. They wouldn’t tell anyone. He could trust them.

They had told him he needed to speak with Hashirama, and he knew they were right. It was cowardly of him to avoid the topic. Even if the conversation would be difficult, drastically painful for the both of them, it needed to happen. It was bad enough he’d gotten the man’s hopes up by popping into his living room. Ripping the proverbial bandage off sooner rather than later would do them both good in the end.

He let himself rest against the door for a moment longer before pushing himself off, groaning. It wasn’t exactly a conversation he knew how to start. When would it even be appropriate to bring such a thing up? Over tea? Here’s your cream, Hashirama; and oh, by the way, we’re not really brothers. Your real brother’s still dead, and you’ll ever see him again. Do you take one or two sugars?

Ignoring his own advice, he walked straight passed the hokage’s office instead of getting it over with. It felt like retreating from a battlefield, and the whole situation left a nasty taste on his tongue, but he still went right down the hallway and planned to hide away from his problems at home.

As if keyed into his internal struggles, Madara threw the office door open before he managed to disappear around the corner, shouting after him. Tobirama made sure to school his expression before looking over his shoulder, raising a single eyebrow in question and praying he looked bored and not as out of it as he felt.

“You’re needed, Senju.”

“Oh, am I Senju today?” Apparently, confessing his crimes had left him incapable of acting like an actual adult, since his mouth betrayed him and was immediately goading the Uchiha on. “Not demon? Brat?”

He could see Madara’s anger flushing his cheeks as he got closer, and Tobirama was more than a bit pleased to see him sputtering. He managed to spit out “Shut it, Senju,” though his pride surely took a massive hit from taking so long.

Tobirama pushed passed him into the office, muttering just loud enough to be heard, “As eloquent as always.” He did his best to not smirk at the offended hiss of curses behind him, already feeling less jittery. And who knew poking the bear would be so fun?

“Tobira!” Hashirama sounded genuinely surprised to see him there, dropping his paperwork in favor of beaming at him. It was good to know he did something around here at least; this was about the fifth time Tobirama had been in his office, but was definitely the first he’d seen him actually at his desk. Though he certainly could have gone much longer without seeing that eyesore of a hat again.

“I’m needed, am I?” He directed the dry question towards Madara, who, much to his great annoyance, simply shooed him further into the room like one would herd a child.

"How’s your team doing? We haven’t had much time to talk about them.” The overtly cheery tone distracted Tobirama from his resentful glaring, and he dialed his glare a few notches back before directing it at the hokage. They both knew damn well why Tobirama was avoiding him, even if Hashirama was pretending like he didn’t. He considered not answering the question at all, but the setting was a little too professional for him to be comfortable doing so.

It was a little off-putting to have Madara studying him as he gave his unofficial report, but he did his best to ignore the man, giving a brief run down of how his team fit together - the trio were adjusting to each other quickly, and he was proud to say they would work wonderfully together if they continued to do so.

Hashirama started fidgeting halfway through the report, poking at a stack of loose papers on his desk. It took him a full minute of silence before he responded, giving a rather confused looking smile as he glanced up at him. “You seem happy with them, Tobira.”

“I would have been happier if actually given a choice on the matter.” He pinned the hokage with a sharp look. Shinobi were born and raised to take orders, taught to follow without question, but he hadn’t actually _received_ an order. Instead, he had been _tricked_ into his position - and, though he was loathe to admit it, he was perhaps a bit used to making his own decisions. Being both a clan heir and a high ranking official afforded him that right in most cases. Having that freedom taken away from him was, to put it lightly, _absolutely detestable_.

Madara cleared his throat, making sure to catch Hashirama’s eyes before speaking. “We still need to discuss the Hyuuga.”

“The Hyuuga?” Tobirama was instantly intrigued. Were they finally ready to discuss an alliance?

“I don’t think we should discuss that right now.”

Madara ignored his friend’s quiet input, turning to the younger Senju to explain. “They’ve been stubborn about meeting us, refusing to do so on neutral territory or without heavy guard. But your brother’s thick head is good for something, at least. They’ve finally agreed to meet and discuss a potential move-in.”

“Well, it certainly was nice of you to stop in!” Hashirama stood up abruptly, shoving his chair back and practically appearing at Tobirama’s side. His smile was stretched thin and his eyes focused on Madara as he placed a firm hand on Tobirama’s shoulder, guiding him back towards the door. “I’ll see you for dinner tonight. How does take-out sound? Good? I’ll pick something up.”

They both stilled when Madara spoke again, his tone authoritative and completely serious. “Hashirama, he needs to be there.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Hashirama wasn’t smiling anymore. Both his voice and hand had tightened, and Tobirama did his best not to wince at the near painful grip on his shoulder.

“You haven’t named another heir. They’ll be expecting him.” Tobirama scrunched his eyebrows, watching the two stubbornly glaring at each other, both unwilling to budge on the matter. At least they were opting to argue silently. It was a pleasant change from their typically boisterous or booming voices, though he wasn’t clear on why all of this was necessary.

“Hashirama,” he patted the man’s hand, half as a poor attempt at comfort and half just to get his grip to lessen. When the fingers were no longer digging into him, Tobirama continued, “It will hardly be the first time I’ve met with clan officials, and it won’t be the last. We have some time, yes?” He flickered his eyes over towards Madara, who nodded in reply.

“A few weeks, yes.”

“We have plenty of time to go over everything, then.” His expression softened ever so slightly at the pinched look he was receiving, and he squeezed the warm hand still resting on him. “There’s nothing to worry about.” Why he would worry so much over Tobirama being there was a mystery he could solve another day; for now, he just wanted him to not be as tense.

Hashirama breathed harshly out of his nose, keeping his eyes shut tight for a moment. “Fine. We’ll go over the details later.” His entire being was still tense, and he sent a glowering look at his friend. Madara patted his arm lightly before going to shift through the paperwork on the desk, content enough with his small victory.

“Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll pick us something up.” The only response Tobirama got was a small, forced smile, but he considered it better than nothing. He ducked out of the office without another word, doing his best to remember which cafe was Hashirama’s favorite. A few pastries would hardly put all of the man’s worries to rest, but it was a start in the right direction at the very least.

 

* * *

 

Apparently, the Yamanaka clan had finally turned the council to their side, no doubt with Hashirama’s enthusiastic help. There were potted flowers being distributed all over Konoha, trees being planted here and there to add shade and color to the streets. Tobirama’s own team had been assigned the restaurant district, and found himself thankful for the years worth of rants he had been subject to about the care of plants.

Both Danzo and Kagami were quite a bit early, and Tobirama showed them how to pot the flowers correctly before enjoying the perks of being their sensei by hanging back and doing nothing. It was pleasantly cool in the shade, and the bakery smelled wonderful, the aroma of fresh baked bread and pastries wafting past him every time a customer left the shop. The kids would probably enjoy a sweet or two after such dull work; if they managed to not get too filthy, he might as well treat them.

“Sensei! I brought a friend!” Tobirama hadn’t been at all concerned when Kasumi hadn’t shown up with the boys - they were close to a whole hour early, after all - but he was definitely surprised to find that she had, indeed, brought a tag-along. She wasn’t quite dragging the girl behind her, but she might as well have been, and Kasumi seemed proud of herself as she jerked the other girl forward.

“I can see that.” He pushed himself off of the tree he had leaned against, making sure to keep an ear out for the boys as they spoke. “And who is your friend, exactly?”

“My name’s Komoto. It’s nice meeting you, Senju-sama.” When it looked like she wouldn’t be continuing, Kasumi gave her a harsh bump with her shoulder, causing her to stumble forward a bit. She glared over at her friend, who encouraged her on with an expectant wave. “I just moved here, but hokage-sama ranked me passed the academy, and I don’t got a sensei or anything, and Kasumi-san mentioned you were her sensei…”

Her eyes were focused on a point just passed his shoulder, and her cheeks were turning redder by the second. It was probably wrong to find amusement out of people floundering so heavily, but people often got flustered when speaking to him. Was he that intimidating? His appearance might be more off-putting than he thought. Still, he had to throw her a lifeline eventually, even if her fidgeting was adorable.

“Are you trying to ask me to teach you?” Komoto scratched sheepishly at her silver hair, only answering with a shy nod. “I don’t see why not, but the hokage will have the final say.”

“See? I told you he wouldn’t bite!”

“Shut up!” She hissed at Kasumi, who was too busy laughing to pay her any attention. He shooed them off to work after that, making sure Danzo and Kagami gave decent enough directions before he went back to his lazing. It turned out Komoto had lived on a farm for half her life - something Tobirama learned after Danzo had ever so tactfully informed her she spoke “like a country bumpkin.” He had earned himself quite the earful after that - so Komoto ended up leading the charge in the end.

He found himself shaking his head fondly at their antics, Kagami making quick work of becoming best friends with his newest teammate and Danzo being so easily flustered by the embarrassing stories the Uchiha boy shared. Fist fulls of fertilizer flew through the air between the two boys, with Kasumi joining in just for the fun of it.

It was bittersweet, seeing Kagami so carefree and happy with his team. Tobirama had difficulty wrapping his mind around being the boy’s sensei on paper; the Madara from his own world hadn’t allowed anyone outside of his clan to teach the Uchiha children until a year after Konoha’s founding, not even in the academy. And even with Kagami hounding him day and night, it had taken another half a year before he relented and allowed Tobirama to train the boy. But Madara had flat out refused to allow him to be an official part of Team Tobirama - something that had broken Kagami’s heart and caused many heated arguments between the two men.

His own Kagami had seemed neglected, desperate to receive even the smallest amount of affection. He recognized it was a good thing, healthy even, for this Kagami to be more independent, but he missed the one that had followed him everywhere, sneaking off to train with him despite disobeying a direct order from his clan head. On the bright side, it meant this one got the attention he had desperately needed from somewhere, even if it wasn’t from him. And he got to officially teach him as well.

Sudden realization had Tobirama groaning, pinching the bridge of his nose against his own foolishness. Had he really just accepted a fourth student? Where was his self-control? His supposed intellect? Honestly, he was more of an idiot than his own brother sometimes. Still, he could hardly turn her away now. He had yet to build up the courage to have _that_ conversation with Hashirama anyway; maybe he could finally bring it up while getting her paperwork in order later.

 

* * *

 

Izuna cringed from his perch at the back of the classroom, sympathizing entirely as the new teacher pleaded with her children to settle down. It was her first day with a class, the metaphorical bell was about to ring, and it was a Friday - there was no wrangling them back into their seats now. Especially since she hadn’t ended on the summoning lesson. Since she didn’t have a summon contract of her own, Izuna had brought in one of his own - really, he should have been just evaluating her, but the teachers here all tried to help each other out anyway - and the little ones had all predictably cooed and excitedly fawned over his littlest bun, unable to stay still after playing with the small bunny. Shoutsu, likewise predictably, had acted like his feet didn’t worked and conned them all into carrying him everywhere.

Kagami swore up and down that all of Izuna’s buns, domestic and summons alike, were spoiled rotten. As if the boy didn’t dote on them just as much.

The kids all bolted for the door as soon as class ended, leaving Izuna to push himself to his seat, bun chuffing away in his arms as he approached the academy’s newest sensei. She groaned loudly and banged her head down on her desk.

“How do you deal with them?”

“Personally? Coffee. And lots of bribing.” She peeked up at him, the typical hopelessness written all over her face. He couldn’t help but laugh, which earned him a look of utter betrayal. “You’ll do fine. I’m here for the next few weeks anyway. And, if it’s still bad after that, just work extra hard and get an admin position.”

“Is that why you got your job? Couldn’t take the kids?”

“Not if the parents ask, it isn’t.” He patted her shoulder with a snicker before leaving her to wallow, readjusting Shoutsu to gather his things from his office. Thanks to a certain domestic bun getting bored the night before, he had quite a bit of paperwork to redo over the weekend. She hadn’t entirely destroyed the documents, but he could hardly file away the chewed up mess she’d left him.

He gave Shoutsu an affectionate cheek scritch. At least his summons could be reasoned with, even if they were still stubborn, high maintenance, and threw the biggest tantrums. Not to mention the destruction they could cause. Honestly, anyone who thought rabbits were easy to care for was a fool of the highest caliber.

“Sensei!” The sound of pounding feet had him stopping, and Kagami was soon bouncing next to him, his face all smudged from training. He had drug a friend along with him, a Hatake girl if her hair was anything to go by, and beamed up at Izuna as he introduced her. “Have you met Komoto-san yet? She just moved here.”

“No, I haven’t. It’s nice to meet you, Komoto-san.” Shoutsu stretched out as far as he could to sniff at her, always happy to meet a new sucker to spoil him.

“Kagami-kun didn’t mention having a team before us.” She patted the rabbit, much more hesitant than Kagami, who took the bun to coo and dote on him properly.

It took a moment for Izuna to understand what she meant, shaking his head at her assumption. “He was my student at the academy, actually. I’ve not had a team.” He ruffled the boy’s hair teasingly, though Kagami only beamed further at the attention. “Though I suppose I have been training him for years now. In exchange for free babysitting, of course.”

“You don’t train me anymore, but you still make me babysit.” He pouted, and Izuna rolled his eyes.

“What, you don’t like watching them?” Like he didn’t beg to spend time with the little shits, stuffing them full of apples and carrots when he could sneak the treats into their bowls. “Guess I owe you for last time then?”

“You could take us out for shabu shabu!”

“Us?” Komoto looked surprised to be included, but Kagami was already hanging onto Izuna’s arm and bouncing, far too worked up to notice.

“Could we bring the whole team along too? We’re all starving!”

“Alright, alright!” Izuna mock scowled down at him, doing his best to channel his inner Madara - though sage knew no one could scowl quite like his nii-san. “But I’m not paying for all of you. I’m not made of money.”

“Okay!” Shoutsu was shoved back into Izuna’s arms before he could finish speaking, and Kagami was off, leaving behind a shocked Komoto to make her way to the restaurant with his former sensei. He learned quite a bit about her as they walked, and she shared her limited knowledge on her other teammates as well. They had only been paired together for a week, but she spoke fondly about them already.

They were both waiting for the rest of their impromptu late-lunch group, Izuna leaning against the building while she paced a bit, kicking one of her feet to send a bit of dust in the air. She was speaking about her sensei now, who she had apparently chosen herself; so far, at least, she wasn’t regretting her decision in the slightest.

“He’s kind enough to us, and don’t mind explaining everything.” She stuck her hands in her pockets, toeing the dirt with her sandal. “Doesn’t treat any of us as more special than the next.”

Izuna pursed his lips, absently soothing Shoutsu’s fur back. Favoritism was a serious issue in Konoha. It was something he had to watch fore at the academy, and no one had found an effective way around the prejudice yet. Some teachers heavily favored the bigger named clans, essentially giving them free passes through their class, and others held onto the years of bad blood and treated some children like shit, just for their clan’s name. _Children_.

Of course, he fought tooth and nail to get those individuals fired. His new job made it much easier to root them out early on - and to get his way faster when it came to being rid of them. But firing them only opened their position back up, potentially bringing even more biased individuals right back to the academy.

“Izu-sensei!” But he could worry about all of that later. For the second time that day, Kagami came bounding up to him, his carefree attitude easing Izuna’s worries away at least for the moment. “Sensei said he would join us too!”

“Oh?” He found himself genuinely interested in meeting the man, especially after hearing both Kagami and Komoto gush about him. Izuna put on his most friendly and open smile, turning as he heard the last three approach. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m-”

He froze mid wave, inwardly cursing himself, the boy bouncing giddily at his side, the bun occupying his other arm, his stupid brother, the damned hokage, the village - anything and everything he could think of, he cursed a violent and painful end. Because standing less than ten feet away was the man he had been accused of murdering (albeit rather ineffectively, seeing as he was here, all breathing and staring and _very much alive_ ), stalk still and looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

Well, he supposed he’d lived a good enough life anyway. But so much for that promise to stay away from Tobirama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names:  
> Hatake Komoto (超元) - "Transcending origins." Komoto named herself, keeping the original kanji from her dead name Hajime (元), which meant "origin."  
> Shoutsu (小兎) - Little rabbit
> 
> Terminology:  
> Shabu shabu: A hotpot dish of boiled meat and veggies in water, served with dipping sauces.
> 
> Fun Facts:  
> My roommate tells stories of her rabbits all the time. One used to seriously pretend he couldn't walk so she would carry him everywhere. His legs worked just fine when she wasn't around.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one signed up for this shit, but at least Tobirama figured out how to fix that bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get to super hardcore adult today, so, as a sort of celebrate, have this chapter a day early! :D
> 
> This chapter might be a bit shorter than usual. I didn't want to distract too much from the long-awaited meeting, nor from tidbit of feels that comes after. Hope it lives up to the expectations.

There were a lot of things in Tobirama’s life that could be considered… _odd_. Like that time he’d flung himself a week into the future, or when he’d been propositioned by one of his own cousins. And, of course, the whole _living in a different universe_ thing that had been happening for several months now. And the ever perplexing time Madara had burst into his room and _threatened to bathe him_.

He honestly thought nothing could top that last event. This current situation, however, took the cake. Won the “ _what the absolute fuck_ ” contest hands down, with no real competition.

Sitting across the table from _Izuna_ , who, likewise, seemed perplexed to utter silence and disbelieving stares, his students prattling away next to them, various meats and vegetables boiling in the two hotpots allocated to their busy table.

His first instinct had been to attack. He might have spent years working and living alongside the Uchiha clan, but Izuna had never been among them. They had been facing each other in battle for years, since they were children, fighting next to their respective fathers and elder brothers at the riverside. The only communication that had ever existed between them had been the clash of steel and the occasional hissed curses between clenched teeth.

They had just finished another mission, his students tired and worn despite the early hour. Kagami still retained some of his usual bounce, running off with Komoto after their mission to show her around town. She had been part of their team for a week now, and was settling in nicely, forming her own friendship with each of them.

Just as Danzo had started off towards his own, Kagami had come back in a rush, excitement bubbling out of him. It took a moment to get him calm enough to actually say coherent words, and both of his remaining teammates had perked up at the mention of ‘Izu-sensei,’ and the three of them had begged with big, wide eyes for him to meet their old academy sensei for lunch with them.

And, honestly, who was he to disappoint them?

He hadn’t recognized the chakra signature. Only three years had passed for him to completely forget what his fiercest enemy had felt like. It was enough to want to turn in his metaphorical sensor card. He froze as soon as he spotted that ponytail, suspicion prickling at his neck, but it took until the man turned around and _waved_ at him for Tobirama to completely register who it was. His hand had instantly twitched towards his weapon pouch, mind reeling with information: the potential cover around them, how many civilians were around to get caught in the crossfire, how and where exactly he would be tossing his students to get them out of the way.

Of course, his mind went entirely blank, fingers stilling at the mass of white and black fur shifting in Izuna’s arm. And wasn’t that good to know? All his decades of training, honed battle instinct and reflexes - everything went right out the window. Senju Tobirama, feared across the country as the single strongest suiton user, was struck dumb when faced with a foe who happened to have something cute and fluffy in their arms.

It went beyond good luck and straight into ‘sage’s will’ territory when he wasn’t killed on the spot in his moment of weakness. It should have surprised him that Izuna wasn’t already spitting fire at him, but the whole situation was so shocking his surprise meter seemed to have been broken. Either that, or it had all gone full-circle, because everything just started to click in his head, the whole world making more sense to him in that moment than it had ever before.

Of course Izuna was alive. Of course he looked just as shocked as Tobirama. And of course the both of them, hardened soldiers of war and bloodshed, were struck still at the sight of each other, unable to so much as breathe as they stared wide-eyed at the other.

Of course Madara’s chakra wasn’t tinted with that dark aura, so present with his own world’s Madara. His brother had lived.

Kasumi caught his arm and tugged on it, and he nearly flipped her when she touched him. She didn’t seem to notice how close she’d come to having a kunai in her throat, just smiled up at him and tugged him on towards the restaurant, prattling away, the words droning into white noise to her sensei.

Something in him noticed Kagami had tugged Izuna on too, and a voice demanded he attack the Uchiha. The man’s back was presented to him and he was oh so deliciously vulnerable at that moment. But that voice sounded suspiciously like his father, and he squashed it down with a disgusted sneer at the thought. He hadn’t listened to his father for years even before the man had died, and he wouldn’t let himself start now.

And so here he found himself, staring down Uchiha Izuna, the man he had killed and whose death had haunted his Madara, had stained all their conversations and had turned the very air poisonous around them in his absence.

He had assumed the man dead here as well. He really was an idiot, on par with his own brother. Of course Izuna had survived the war. He had been the one to kill him, after all; how could he think the Uchiha dead when he himself had kicked it? Well, not _himself_ , exactly, but the point still stood.

At least he was at the edge of the booth, not squashed in by his students. The restaurant wasn’t too crowded either, so there wouldn’t be many casualties if it came down to it. And he had been training more lately, prepared enough to fight if he had to. The main issue at hand was Kagami. The boy was seated right next to Izuna, and damn near gave him an aneurysm each time he moved carelessly, showing vital points and bouncing around next to _Uchiha Izuna_. Didn’t he know how _dangerous_ that man was? How easily he could be killed, sitting right up against him? How utterly foolish it was to not be vigilant of every twitch, every breath? How could he be so _trusting_?

Tobirama didn’t even want to know what was happening to his blood pressure. He had to forcibly unclench his hands, stretching out the protesting digits under the table. Izuna had visibly stiffened as well, shock leaking out and a promise of blood in the set of his jaw.

He relaxed a bit after Tobirama stopped staring so intensely at Kagami, and it took a moment for him to process that. When it finally clicked, he wanted to slap himself for his continued idiocy.

Izuna wasn’t a threat to Kagami. He wanted to _protect_ the boy. His stance said that quite clearly, his arm almost constantly in front of Kagami, as if ready to throw himself in front of him. He was tense for the same reasons Tobirama was: a man he’d thought dead had popped up out of no where, he was currently sitting with a mortal enemy, his students were sitting alongside said mortal enemy, and there was no telling how the other would react to the situation.

That thought was oddly comforting, in its own way. Knowing neither of them knew what to do or what might happen. And it had been made clear Izuna cared for the kids, obvious in the way they had gushed about “Izu-sensei” as they had made their way to the restaurant.

The kids were safe, and that’s what mattered the most. He could worry about the rest later when they weren’t around to get caught in the crossfire. That revelation didn’t make him any more willing to actually eat the food, but it did help him relax ever so slightly, enough to pay attention to the chatter around him - though he did keep a careful eye on the Uchiha. He might have been rather foolish as of late, to put it lightly, but he wasn’t entirely asinine yet. He wouldn’t be caught off guard a second time that day.

Sage above, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this tense. His shoulders were protesting already, as were his arms from being crossed so forcibly over his chest. Even running into Madara that time in the hospital hadn’t been this nerve-wracking. Of course, Hashirama had been there, which had helped immensely. What he wouldn’t give for that idiot to show up now and cut through the thick air with his brilliant smile and silly antics.

Though, there was really no telling how Izuna would react to that. He might feel out-numbered or cornered, and could lash out like a caged animal. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea after all to telepathically scream out for Hashirama to come save the day.

“Sensei!” Tobirama shifted his head just enough to be considered paying attention to Kagami, unwilling to take his eyes off of Izuna still. It was enough for the boy to continue, excited as he was about whatever they had been discussing. “When are we going to get our summon contracts? I wanna summon something cool, like a bear, or-or a lizard!”

“Lizards aren’t cool.” Ever the expert on everything - and the resident killjoy - Danzo had to pipe up then. It did nothing to dampen Kagami’s spirits.

“Lizards are so cool! They have scales, and can lose their tails, and have super long tongues that can go hnnnnn.” He made sure to stick his tongue out in demonstration before turning his big eyes right back to his sensei. “Can I get a contract with them, sensei?”

A rather adorably offended honk came from Izuna’s lap, and Kagami leaned over to pet the bunny settled there. “Don’t worry, Shoutsu-chan, I’ll get a contract with you guys, too.” He paused for a moment, nose scrunching up. “I can do that, right, sensei?”

“Technically.” Tobirama started to answer him, but froze immediately. The Uchiha had not been prepared for him to speak, and had stiffened instantly at his voice. Tobirama’s hand inched towards his weapon holster, staring at the spot directly under Izuna’s eyes, just waiting for him to activate his dōjutsu; he could feel the flow of his chakra reverting there, and planned to gouge those cursed eyes out at the first sign of red. Adrenaline had his senses heightened, taking in every twitch of the man in front of him, listening to the droning sounds of chatter without processing the words beyond ‘not a threat.’

He didn’t want it to come to a fight. Hashirama’s peace was hard-earned, no matter the universe, and attacking Izuna would destroy it. The man wasn’t his enemy now anyway. But he would do anything to protect his students, even kill a man that was attempting to protect them as well.

Izuna had been his equal in battle. Luck had as much to do with his victory as skill; he knew that. This Izuna was an unknown foe, but that went both ways. The tips of his fingers brushed against the soft leather of his weapon holster, eyes narrowed in focus. There was no way to know how this battle would go, not this time.

“More beef for table four!” The server cut through with a clearly forced smile, and no doubt knew she was beyond lucky neither shinobi stabbed her. Somehow, her interruption brought them both down from their adrenaline highs, and Izuna even managed his own forced smile, thanking her for the plate of beef.

Tobirama gave the atmosphere a minute to settle, leaning back in the booth and staring purposely at the boiling pot in front of him. He noticed Komoto fidgeting beside him, sending confused and wary glances between the two sensei. It was good to know she had caught on to the blatantly obvious tension between them, but it would be a lie to say he wasn’t disappointed in his other pupils for not catching on as well.

His Madara had said something once about the consequences of peace. He had worried peace had made his clan complaisant; Tobirama couldn’t find it in him to fully agree, but the lack of constant fear had certainly dulled the kids’ instincts. Not that he wanted them used to war, used to questioning everyone’s motives, but expecting a bit more caution out of them was hardly a bad thing.

“Technically speaking, yes.” Tobirama started again, keeping his tone a bit softer than necessary, his shoulders relaxed and eyes on the food. He didn’t want to fight here, in front of his students, in a public restaurant frequented by civilians. Making that clear without actually stating it might be difficult, but that fact wasn’t going to stop him from trying. “There’s nothing stopping you from having multiple contracts. It is rare, though.”

“Why? Don’t people like having summons?” He stole Shoutsu right out of Izuna’s lap, soothing his fur down as if just the idea had been a personal attack against the precious little bun. Tobirama was glad to note the Uchiha had made an effort to relax as well, though neither had so much as touched the food. More for the kids then, the little moochers.

“It’s not that. Summon animals are simply not as common as one would think.” The slip into sensei mode made it easier to remain calm, and he picked up his chopsticks, idly twirling them between his fingers as he lectured. “Contracts are often kept in families, or passed from mentor to students. Most are difficult to come by on one’s own.”

Kagami took a moment to process the information, picking at a tough piece of beef on his plate. “So, sensei…do you know anyone who summons lizards?”

He huffed a short laugh, more air than anything else, shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid not, little one. I’ve only personally seen the ninbyō from Sora-ku, snow leopards, snakes, and now apparently rabbits.” He spared a glance at the Uchiha, who was studying him intently as well, but made sure to not let his gaze linger. There was no telling what might set the man off.

Kagami sulked at that, poking his food with a pout. Right next to him, Kasumi leaned forward. She had been chewing on her lip thoughtfully throughout the conversation, and now shot him an innocent smile - which was completely contradicted by the scheming glint in her eyes.

“So, do _you_ have any summons, sensei?”

He tried not to recoil at the question. He tried and failed horribly, his entire being stiffening right back up and his eyes shutting tight for several seconds. That wound was far too fresh to not react to, the tattoo on his wrist mocking him with its uselessness, sitting bold against the near white of his skin.

“I did.” It hurt to not say he still did, the admission burning his chest. He wouldn’t lie outright to her - by omission was a different story, clearly. It disgusted him to admit that, even in his thoughts; Hashirama still walked around under the assumption his brother was alive, after all, Tobirama having not corrected him despite his promise to both himself and Madoka to do so. His father would be disgusted by his cowardice as well.

Kami, he needed to get away from this damned Uchiha. He flicked his gaze towards the door, giving brief consideration to leaving right then. The image of his father kept popping up, haunting him in Izuna’s presence, and Butsuma was better off dead and gone. His influence had done nothing good for him, or anyone for that matter.

“What, can you lose your contract?” Danzo had no tact. The salt pouring in his wounds make him grind his teeth, but he swallowed that pain, reaching to put food on his plate just for something to do.

“I don’t think you have to worry about losing any contracts with potential summons. I’ve simply, ahh, had _difficulty_ contacting them after my…return.”

“Is it because you were dead?” Izuna near choked at the question, staring down at Kagami with equal parts horror and incredulity, looking as if he might hiss at the boy if he gathered his voice back anytime soon. Kagami simply blinked innocently up at him. “What? Mada-ojii-san said he’d died.”

There was a hint of something suspiciously close to guilt that flickered across Izuna’s face, and Tobirama took note of that and placed it on a mental shelf for careful inspection later. For now, he shrugged in feigned nonchalance, praying to the kami he didn’t even believe in that this conversation would end soon. Being assaulted with so many emotions, _in public_ no less, had not exactly been on his bucket list.

“Something like that, yes. My connection to them seems to have been broken, so I am unable to summon them.” Hopefully, that would be the end of it.

“Have you tried a, uhhhh…” Tobirama’s eyes shot forward in surprise. Izuna cleared his throat awkwardly, looking just as surprised that he’d spoken up as the man he’d spoken to. After a moment of inner debate, he set his jaw, looking Tobirama straight in the eye as if determined to prove there was nothing unnerving about the entire shit-show of a situation they’d found themselves in. “Have you tried a reverse summoning technique?”

Tobirama maintained the eye contact, despite the obvious dangers in doing so. Something in him took it as a personal challenge, and refused to allow Izuna to know just how disconcerting the situation had been for him - he _knew_ full well the other man knew, just as he _knew_ Izuna had been just as thrown off, but such silly facts were useless at the moment.

“If the connection is lost, how would that help?” He knew his tone could be considered offensive, bracing. Most people could never tell when he was genuinely curious about something or when he was trying to bring their intelligence into question - which, honestly, wasn’t his problem. Most of the time, anyway. Now, however, he really hoped the Uchiha wasn’t stupid enough to get all uppity over a simple question.

Why either of them bothered to speak at all was something he’d ponder later.

To his relief, Izuna didn’t take exception to his straight forward nature. He did purse his lips a bit, whether out of annoyance or something else entirely he couldn’t tell. “Connections formed through summon contracts aren’t single-laned in nature. They’re more like parallel streets. Your connection to them might be lost, but _their_ connection to _you_ could still be intact.” He paused, placing a bit of bamboo shoot on his plate to push around, adding as an after thought, “In theory, anyway.”

It was honestly difficult to decide what was more surprising: the Uchiha having a decent grasp of jutsu theory, something he rarely found other people were interested in; his suggestion being legitimately _good_ ; that the thought of doing so had not even occurred to him; or that Izuna was bothering to explain himself to begin with, effectively _helping_ someone that had actively sought out his death during the war.

He was vaguely aware that Izuna had stated to twitch under his stare, but his mind had taken off, crafting and recrafting potential reverse seals, far too busy to care anymore. The tattoo on his wrist was a condensed form of his specific summoning seal, but he could construct the original in his sleep at this point. If he found the mirror to each point of the seal, and caused the flow of chakra to reverse, keeping the location aspect open…

It could work. It absolutely could work for him, and was just something he couldn’t _not_ try.

He tossed enough ryō on the table to cover him and his students, throwing a curt “thank you” at the Uchiha before heading straight for the door. He caught the surprise on all of their faces as he left, but didn’t bother explaining himself - there was a chance that this could work. A small chance, but that mattered little to him. The worst possible outcome would be disappointment, and he was more than acquainted enough from recent experience to be taken down by a little more.

At least, he hoped so. The walk home passed by him in a blur, and he worried his lip between his teeth, making his way to the small collection of books stacked on his desk in the guest room. He knew full well his mental health might not survive another break like the last one, but he was so tired of being alone.

 

* * *

 

Tobirama had the strangest sense of deja vu, seated as he was on the guest room floor, his armor and fur strapped into place, about to attempt his latest fuinjutsu creation. He brushed the feeling aside with a shake of his head, carefully analyzing the meticulously drawn kanji before him. Fuinjutsu was a finicky art; even the slightest smudge would ruin the attempt, and could quite literally have it blow up in his face.

Not that his failed attempts had taught him nothing. Every experience was a learning experience if one looked at it correctly. He just thought knowing how long it took for his eyebrows to regrow - three months, not that it mattered - was no where near as useful as a working suiton jutsu. Well, technically two and a half months, give or take a few days.

He was distracting himself. He’d already bitten his lower lip raw, surprised he hadn’t tasted blood from his worrying yet. What if it didn’t work? What if the past two days of work had been for nothing? He’d blown off training his team for this, and the guilt was already eating at him. If his selfishness brought him nothing, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Anxiety had his hands trembling, and he took a deep breath, focusing on his breathing to slow his heart rate back to normal. It was worth trying. The possibility of seeing his feline family far outweighed the disappointment of failing. He’d already felt it here anyway; he could take it again if he had to. It _was_ worth it.

Most shinobi bit their thumbs to activate their contracts, something he’d never cared much for - he hadn’t ever told anyone, but saliva disgusted him, even if it was his own. He brought out a kunai instead, poking the tip of his middle finger. The blood leaked out slowly, not even enough to drip down his finger but more than adequate for the job. He hesitated again, staring at the stain of red on him, a large wad of something that tasted like fear rolling around his stomach.

It was worth it.

He placed his finger against the seal, pulling chakra into his hand before he could stop himself. He managed to catch the start of a smoke cloud before he vanished, thrown into the nothingness that existed between two anchor points of fuinjutsu.

The ground crunched softly beneath him as he landed, evergreens towering in the distance, their branches weighed down by ice and snow. His breath was visible before him, the heavy scent of a nearby den thick in the air.

Something hit his back hard, and he pitched forward beneath it, hitting the ground without warning. It pinned him down, too heavy to push off or even twitch under. The low growling had him still even as his eyes widened in recognition, wet fangs on his neck causing a swell of panic in his chest and throat.

“What are you doing here, _impostor_?” The word was spat in fury, and all Tobirama could do was lay there and hope she didn’t kill him. A thought floated forth unbidden in the haze of his fear, threatening to burst forth as manic laughter: Hashirama was about to lose his brother _again_ , and he hadn’t even left a note. He wouldn’t even know he was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love playing fast and loose with jutsu theory. Also, another shameless cliffhanger is shameless.
> 
> Terminology:  
> Ninbyō or ninneko - Ninja cats!
> 
> As always, questions and comments are both welcomed and greatly appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama gets more than he bargained for, and Madara has to save his friend from the most terrifying of beasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heads up: One of our animals is going into surgery this coming week. I plan on still uploading the next chapter; but, if things go poorly, I might not make it. Worst comes to worst, it'll only be postponed a week.
> 
> Also, just to be clear, the first scene is still with canon-Tobirama :)

_Ten Years Prior_

It had been surprising to find settlements so far into Snow Country wilderness, miles and miles away from any usable farmland or markets or towns. Most seemed to be used seasonally, abandoned just before the snow got too deep and resettled come that country’s bastardized version of summer. Still, they made for decent enough cover, and Tobirama had spent weeks sleeping in trees and carved out holes in the snow; he was hardly going to turn his nose up at the well-built cabins and cozy fireplaces.

The most recent night had been spent at a hunter’s settlement - at least, he’d assumed that’s who owned the small cluster of wood buildings. The metal traps and scatterings of animal bones he’d found outside were his main points of evidence, and the occasional forgotten bits of fur only confirmed his suspicions. They also made for a nice makeshift blanket, and for once since he’d set foot in this cursed land he’d actually slept while being able to feel his toes.

He was deep in the mountain range, light scatterings of trees and the occasional patch of forest the only real sights other than the carpet of snow laid out like an ocean ahead of him. The group of shinobi he had been tracking were more suited for such weather, and he’d lost them after a sudden snowstorm hit a little over a week before. The clouds overhead hung heavy, and he sent a weary glance upwards as he leapt through the trees. It would be wiser to head home at this point, but coming back empty handed was not an option. He only needed to be within a handful of miles to sense his prey, anyway, and he knew the general direction they had been heading. Hopefully, he’d catch wind of them soon.

Dawn was still coloring the sky, the sun reflecting off the ice and snow, threatening to burn his face despite the disastrously low temperature, when he heard the pained cries of an animal in the distance. He paused on a thin branch, tilting his head back and forth, trying to locate the source of the noise. Normally, he would’ve ignored it in favor of completing his mission, but his rations had run slim, the mission having gone over already by a few weeks. The promise of fresh meat had him changing course, heading deeper into the woods in search of his prey.

He’d never heard a snow leopard before. Never been around one to hear it. The sight of the beautiful yet alarmingly large creature had his breath catching, arm halting mid swing of a kunai aimed at its spinal cord. Its hind leg had been caught in a hunter’s trap, the metal teeth biting deep, dark red flowing thick and staining its fur and the snow around it. Its yowling hadn’t abated - the panic must have overcome its natural survival instincts, since such cries would only alert other, potentially larger predators that it was currently injured and an easy target.

His father would have called him weak, feeling pity for the beast. Would have forced him to slaughter it and keep the fur as a lesson. But Butsuma was several countries and an ocean away, unable to bare witness to his indecision, how he squirmed on his high perch in the pine, a lump forming in his throat as the creature cried out in pain.

Touka was right. He’d spent far too much time with Hashirama recently. It could very well come down to eating the leopard or starving at this point. And one animal was hardly worth the life of a shinobi.

Even as he reminded himself of that important fact, he jumped out of the tree, landing several meters away from the leopard. The cries stopped immediately, replaced by a low growl, teeth glistening and old eyes watching his every moment. He raised his hands as he approached, using chakra to walk on top of the deep snow, murmuring assurances that he meant no harm as he knelt at the leopard’s side.

Breaking the trap proved to be simple enough, the mechanisms worn from being left out for so long. The teeth were slick with blood, the sound sickening as it slid out of its leg, a hiss escaping the creature as he tossed it away. Healing the wound was a bit trickier - he’d been studying iryou ninjutsu for several years now, but healing humans and healing animals were vastly different practices, and keeping the fur out of the wound without shaving its leg was almost impossible.

Still, he managed well enough, soothing the soft fur back over the freshly knitted skin before leaning back on his heels, giving it some room. The leopard stood up, slowly stretching out the now only sore limb, rolling into the motion to stretch its entire body and give a hefty yawn. Tobirama made sure not to move as it did so, watching the grey and white fur twitch as it adjusted itself and shook off the snow.

When it turned on him, pinning him into the snow with a body easily twice his size, he’d assumed he’d made a grave error. Instead of wet fangs ripping at his throat, however, the assault came in the form of a rough tongue on his face. He yelped, trying his best to struggle free. It only laid down fully on him, chuffing as it moved on to groom down his unruly hair.

“Ena, I smell blood.” The words were hardly distinguishable from growls, and Tobirama was buried too far in the snow to see who might have been speaking - though he found himself far too busy gagging at the wet tongue licking his cheek to care.

“Don’t fret yourself, Shyngyz. This sweet little cub freed me.” The leopard laying on him rumbled with the words, purring as she bathed him, and the realization stopped his squirming.

She’d talked. The leopard had _talked_.

“You’re a summon, aren’t you?” His voice sounded breathless in his excitement; he wasn’t an expert on feline expression, but she looked quite amused by him, green eyes lit with warmth. Another set of paws crunched over to them, a second leopard head popping into sight and its breath tossing his bangs.

“Is this dinner then?” Shyngyz sniffed at him some more, ducking away from Ena’s playful batting.

“I think not. I like the smell of this one. Though, I’d like it more if he were clean.” Ena huffed down at him, lowering his head to meet his gaze. “Do you not bathe, little cub?” She looked quite ready to chastise him, which would certainly be a story to tell: rescuing a snow leopard in the middle of a snow-laden woods, and the beautiful creature lecturing him on how often he bathed. Of course, he’d be leaving out the parts where she’d bathed him herself, _which she was doing again_.

“Must you adopt every filthy stray you come across?” They both ignored his furthered squirming, doing his best to escape the grooming, Ena huffing indignantly at Shyngyz and her ears flickering back at the accusation.

“I don’t adopt _every_ stray. Just the good ones.” Much to Tobirama’s great relief, she finally moved off of him, and he wiped furiously at his face to remove her saliva. It had been difficult to breathe all that leopard on his chest anyway. Ena didn’t move far from him, wise eyes studying him as he sat up and shivered from the cold. She must have been searching for something in him because she sat there for a good minute, finally giving a decisive nod as she found whatever she had been looking for. With a flick of her tail, she motioned for him to follow her, standing up and brushing against Shyngyz as she went.

“Come, little cub. You’re far too small for your own good.” He might not understand feline body language, but he knew a promise of food when he heard one. Besides, making nice with summon animals could hardly be a bad thing; maybe, if he played his cards right, he could talk them into sharing their contract.

With that thought, he trailed after them, distracted entirely from the mission that had brought him there to begin with. One measly stolen jutsu scroll would hardly mean much in the long run anyway.

 

* * *

 

_Present_

Snow leopards were non-aggressive by nature, preferring to avoid conflict in favor of sticking to the shadows, hardly ever seen in the wild. That being said, his summons had fought at his side many times, knocking down and tearing into his enemies with ease, cleaning themselves after and always looking so pleased with their handy work. And as Tobirama lay there, face down in the biting snow, teeth at his neck, he understood all too well the flood of sheer terror and panic he’d felt in his foes when felled by these beautiful beasts.

Panic had his words caught in his throat, and the leopard heavy on his back chocked the air from his lungs. He could feel her anger, low growls shaking through him, claws digging into his armor, scraping the metal. The logical part of his brain, what wasn’t dulled by lack of oxygen and the flood of anxiety, knew there had to be _something_ he could do to calm her, to get away.

The ground shook around them, heavy footfalls crushing the snow piles flat. Tobirama couldn’t move his head, fangs still grazing against the vital area, but whatever had approached them blocked out the sunlight above.

“Come now, Shyngyz. Is that any way to treat our guest?” The voice rumbled through the clearing, near echoing in its volume, an amused hum tinted with a touch of authority.

The leopard on his back stiffened, hissing in her anger. “He is not welcome here.” Shyngyz let him up despite herself, moving to the side and watching him, ears laid back and teeth bared in a silent snarl. Tobirama made sure to sit up slowly, staying knelt in the snow and looking up at the new leopard.

She towered over him. Even as she bent to see him more clearly, he had to tilt his head back to meet her eye. Her head alone had to be a good meter taller than him if he stood.

“Heikou-sama.” He bowed his head, in both respect and awe. The snow leopard matriarch was beyond his chakra capacity to summon; he knew her by reputation, but had never expected to be able to meet her. Her breath ruffled his hair as she sniffed him, whiskers twitching as they brushed the snow.

“Tobirama-kun. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He shifted under her heavy gaze, very aware of how easily she could crush him. Seeing as Shyngyz was still growling at his presence, clearly displeased with him, she might just choose to do so. Politeness didn’t equate to kindness, after all.

“I found myself unable to summon your children, Heikou-sama, and wished to find a way to reconnect with them.”

“We would not come to you, skinwalker. You are not one of ours.” He flinched at the venom in Shyngyz’s words, avoiding her accusation and piercing glare by staring at the ground before him. She was right, of course, but knowing that did not lessen the impact of her rejection. Snow scattered, glistening in the sunlight as it fell, Heikou’s massive tail landing heavy, flicked in the other’s direction to let Shyngyz know her position was noted.

“You have made no pact with us. Only those who hold our contract may summon us.” She tilted her head, eye nearly level with him now, humming as she considered him. “We had adopted one much like you, but death took him from us years ago. How is it you wear his face?”

“I am not him.” She knew that, but he felt compelled to confirm it anyway, continuing with a calming breath as he met her eye. “I am not him, but we bare the same name and lineage. My name is Senju Tobirama, son of Senju Butsuma, and heir to the Senju clan. I hail from a world separate from this one, where I survived the war and saw the founding of Konoha. In that world, I had a contract with your snow leopards, and used that to bring myself here to your home.”

“Of course your world is separate from ours. The human realm has long been separate from us.” Shyngyz scoffed at him, shaking her head as she snorted. A scar ran jagged across her muzzle, lifting her lip in a permanent sneer, and Tobirama felt his heart sting from the old wound. His own Shyngyz had no such scar, nor had she ever spoken to him in such a manor.

“You know of what he speaks, Shyngyz.” The scoffing leopard quietened quickly under her matriarch’s unimpressed stare, hunkering down to lay flat in the snow. “No human could replicate a scent so thoroughly. Though,” Heikou paused, shifting forward to sniff at his person, her nose bumping into him and knocking him onto his rear with a small yelp, “your scent as a softer nature.” She leaned back again, letting him sit back up, Tobirama doing his best not to scowl at her lacking manners. She gave a pointed look to the still grumbling leopard, adding matter-of-factly, “I do believe we’ll be keeping this one, all the same.”

“We’re _what?”_ Shyngyz sprang forward in her fury, fur bristling and tail whipping through the air.

“You are far from home, little cub.” Heikou ignored the spitting leopard once more, leaning further towards Tobirama, blocking the sun from view. The midday light set her fur ablaze, glowing a brilliant orange-red, outlined in fire. “We may not be your own, but shall come to your aid all the same. You need only call.”

Biting his lip only just held back the sheer elation he felt at her words. He reached out to her, running a hand through the soft fur on her nose, voice rough with emotion. “Thank you, Heikou-sama.” It took a moment for him to continue, closing his eyes tight to keep the moisture at bay. “I don’t mean to be rude, but there are a few of yours I’ve rather missed.”

This close to him, her low humming shook through his entire body. “Give me their names, little cub.”

“Ena, and her daughter Hanten.” Even without seeing them now, Tobirama felt he could never express his gratitude towards the snow leopard. Still, he hadn’t been exaggerating about missing their company; Ena had all but adopted him, and he’d practically raised Hanten in turn. To say they were anything but family would be a disservice to them both.

At the sad shake of Heikou’s massive head, fur and whiskers hissing against the snow, Tobirama felt his heart fracture. “Ena left us for the spirit realm only a year after your own soul. She bore no cubs in her lifetime.”

There were not words to describe their absence. It felt like losing his brothers all over again; he lowered his head, swallowing against the grief crawling up his chest. Mourning could be done later, in the seclusion of his room. Breaking here would do him no favors.

“Tell me, Tobirama-kun,” Heikou stood up fully, stretching her back and shaking out her legs. It shook the ground around her, forcing Tobirama to brace himself to keep from falling over. “Have you cared for one of our cubs before?”

“Yes. Hanten was placed in my care.” It was not an honor he’d taken lightly, either; from what he’d gathered, the tradition was unique to the snow leopards, and only a handful of summoners had ever been chosen. Still, he cocked his head, leaning back to squint up at the mountain of a feline, not sure why she would bother asking at all.

“Good.” Her paw passed over him as she stepped, bits of snow falling and landing on his hair and face. “Then I have little to teach you.”

He didn’t get time to respond before the ground was falling away, tearing a rather undignified yelp out of him as he was lifted by his collar. Shyngyz’s protests were vaguely registered as Heikou padded away, Tobirama hanging from her teeth like a rag doll.

In his lifetime, Tobirama had used various methods of travel. This, however, had to be his least favorite by far. He hated it. No matter how he twisted his head, all he could see was Heikou’s mouth and cheeks, unable to catch her eye and a little too breathless to get her attention otherwise. Swinging back and forth was making him nauseous as well, and that’s without taking into account how far away the ground looked.

It lasted for little over a minute, and he still felt a flood of relief when it ended. Heikou placed him gently down at the mouth of a cave, stretching herself up to clear the cliff side. He eyed her warily, seeing her dark grey eyes glinting with humor as she huffed at him; dangling like a kitten from its mother’s maw had certainly been an experience, one he hoped with all of his being would never be repeated.

“Go now. Find your cub mate, and I will send you home.”

Something told him saying no wasn’t an option. Disrespecting a giant feline, one whose teeth were damn near larger than him, could be nothing short of insanity after all. So he entered the den at her order, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust, trailing a hand against the cool stone of the passageway.

Deeper into the cave, the air held a musky scent, natural light practically non-existent. A few mothers lay about, their litters all still small, tumbling over each other in the midst of their playtime. As summons, he knew they weened earlier than normal, meaning even the smallest among them could choose him - he spotted one no larger than a domestic cat, one corner of his lips quirking up as a sneeze knocked it backwards.

In his own world, Ena had brought him her only cub. Shyngyz had been livid at the break in tradition, though her vehement protests died down significantly when Hanten attached herself to him so firmly. Still, thanks to her endless rants, he knew the proper process, and knelt in the middle of the den, blowing low to the mothers.

One of the mothers studied him, her head propped up on her front paws, a scar running jaggest over an empty eye socket. Another shrugged at his presence, dragging one of her wily cubs close and pinning it down to clean its fur. He sympathized greatly with its protests, glancing around the cave to watch the other cubs eyeing him curiously.

It could potentially take hours for one to approach him. Hour longer still for one to decide to go with him. He was a new presence, and it was unlikely the cubs had ever even seen a human. The snow leopards selected their summoners with care, and only held a few contracts at a time; he doubted there was another connected to them at the moment, and doubted further that one would be blessed with raising a cub.

Apparently, Ena and Shynzyz both had elected to not disclose a very important tradition of theirs, one where all snow leopards were required to knock him over in greeting. At least the cub pouncing on him now was light, preventing him from pitching forward and smashing his face on the stone floor.

Tobirama reached back to pluck the cub from his back, wincing from the claws digging into his shoulder. The small thing was vibrating in its excitements, purrs shaking his little body and fluffy tail perked up. As Tobirama resettled him into his lap, the cub was briefly distracted by his armor ties, batting at them and scratching against the metal.

Well. That had been much easier than expected. The cub crawled right into the crook of his arm, refusing to move and chuffing up at him. He brought the cub up close, burying his face into the down-soft fur, taking a minute to just listen to his purrs. A small voice in the furthest region of his mind piped up uninvited, reminding him that adopting a cub was the exact _opposite_ of what he should be doing - but that part of him could honestly shove it for all he cared.

He must have looked stupid when he walked out of that cave, the biggest grin stretching across his face. Probably looked just like Hashirama when he got all excited over whatever tiny thing had crossed his path. The sun was harsh compared to the dark of the cave, and he had to block out the light with his hand, spotting Heikou laying at the bottom of the cliff waiting for him. She sent him popping back into his room after a brief farewell, and he quickly removed his fur, setting the cub there for the time being. If he was going to raise a cub here, he needed some supplies, namely food, and had a lot of work to do to cub-proof the house.

 

* * *

 

“Have you spoken to the elders yet?” Madara followed Hashirama into the living room, papers in hand as he ran through his mental checklist. He spared a moment to eye the kotatsu wistfully; if he threw a fit about it, his friend would more than likely turn it on. Not that the weather called for it yet, but his own had been on for well over a month now. Peace had done wonders for spoiling him.

“Yup!” His hokage left him for the kitchen; the idiot thought every occasion required a copious amount of refreshments, which gave him several minutes to skim through the material again. He flopped himself down at the non-heated kotatsu, sticking his legs under the quilt as he pulled out his reading glasses, the racket from the kitchen hardly disturbing his focus after years of friendship with the clumsy man.

Really, he _could_ just scan the documents once with his sharingan. It’s a trick that Izuna had discovered, and the brat could site anything he’d previously scanned by memory at the drop of a pin with no problem. Yet Madara had done that _one time_ , and though it had certainly worked short-term, long-term it had become a complete nightmare. That damned report on potential farmland placements haunted him still, years later, at the worst of times: it kept him up late some nights when all he wanted was a good rest, distracted him in the midst of arguing over _flowers_ with the council (he still wanted to smack Hashirama for having to discuss flowers in the first place), and even popped up once in the middle of a rather _intimate_ encounter with and _extremely_ attractive Nara man. And honestly, farmland potential should be the _furthest_ thing from his mind when busy on his knees.

So, doing it the “plebeian way,” as his ever so darling little brother put it - he could see Izuna’s snobbish upturned nose as the brat said it, and rolled his eyes at the mental image - would have to suffice. His memory was decent on its own anyway.

“I need to go shopping soon, so there’s not much to choose from.” Hashirama gave a small smile as he set his tray down, apologetic despite the dozen various snacks and handful of different teas he’d brought to choose from. He knew better than to comment on that, and just plucked a soft biscuit up to nibble on. Fall was his not-so-secret favorite dessert season, meaning he needed to schedule in extra training each week to make up for his sweet tooth - honestly, whoever thought to flavor everything after kabocha deserved both a medal and a sharp smack across the head for making him eat so much.

“Have you caught your brat up as well?” The biscuits were going to be the death of him. He reached for a second one, not bothering to look up from the report as he shoved it in his mouth.

“I haven’t seen him the past few days.” A glance up found Hashirama fiddling with his empty tea cup, shoulders slumped forward as he sighed. “He’s been holed up in his room again.”

That was mildly concerning. Madara reached for his own cup, picking out a bag of plain black tea and filling it with hot water from the steaming kettle. “You’ve had over a week. He’s coming with, and needs to be well informed on everything.” Concern over the brat’s mental health could be saved for later; right now, as Konoha’s highest officials, they had a job to do.

Hashirama heaved another sigh, pushing himself up and dragging his feet as he left the living room. “Fine. I’ll go get him.”

“Hashirama, he’s not-” He cut himself off when the idiot disappeared down the hall, scowling after him. How the _esteemed hokage_ couldn’t sense his brother wasn’t home was pitiful. Were the Senju that lacking in their sensing lessons? No matter; Madara turned back to his work, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The man would figure out Tobirama wasn’t home soon enough anyway.

A terrified shriek had him shooting up a moment later, bolting down the hall without giving himself time to process the noise. He reached to his hip, cursing lightly at his lack of a weapon holster, sliding around the corner with intent to take down any enemy nin with taijutsu alone.

Hashirama had pressed himself against the wall opposite the guest room, pointing towards the open doorway and full body shaking. The sight had him pausing, no longer primed to fight but more than a little curious. He approached the room, silently walking against the wall, ignoring his friend’s incoherent attempts to warn him against something.

When he popped his head around the corner, hair falling away from his face as he leaned over, Madara near doubled over with laughter.

“Truly, a terrifying beast to behold.” He was still snickering a minute later, and he could feel how red his face had turned from his laughter. What had caused the _God of Shinobi_ so much fright was nothing more than a little cub, the small thing curled up at the foot of his brother’s bed on that fur he wore so often. Madara walked into the room, kneeling down with no fear of the tiny kit, letting it sniff at his hand.

“It’s a wild animal! A vicious killer!” The _vicious killer_ head butted Madara’s hand in a demand of affection, and he rubbed its cheek. On a whim, he picked the cub up, having every intention to spoil it with pets as they worked.

“He’s a babe, idiot. Are you afraid of babies now?” At least, Madara thought it was a he. He sat back down at the kotatsu, burying his face into the spotted fur. The cub had his ears laid back, clearly not liking the Senju’s pitch and volume. “I know, small one. His voice hurts my ears, too.”

“Are you baby-talking it?” Hashirama pursed his lips as he sat down, scooting as far away as possible while still being able to reach the kotatsu. “Also, mean.”

“No one asked for your input.” Madara cleared his throat, making a conscious effort to talk normally. Realizing that he had indeed been “baby-talking” at the cub, he flopped over onto his back so Hashirama couldn’t see him anymore, situating the purring cub on his chest.

“Where did he even get it?”

“How the hell should I know?” Madara picked up a lock of his hair, moving it back and forth to get the cub to play with him. The little leopard perked up a bit at the moment, patting at the hair before settling right back down with a jaw cracking yawn. The little tyke seemed worn out, drifting off with rumbling purrs that threatened to make Madara doze as well.

 

* * *

 

Tobirama made his way up the steps, cloth bags in hand and a giddy feeling still bubbling away in his chest. The front door was unlocked, and he could sense both his brother and the Uchiha in the living room, though he paid that little mind. The meat needed to be put in the ice box lest it spoil; it might be getting colder, but it was far from freezing outside.

“Tobira, there was a wild animal in your room!” Hashirama blocked his path with flailing arms, forgoing a greeting as he ran over.

“He’s not a wild animal.” As he nudged his shoes into place, Tobirama paused, narrowing his eyes at the older man. “You didn’t let him out, did you?” Summon animals might be more intelligent and resilient by nature, but he was still just a cub, and if he’d gotten loose…

“Well, I, uhhh,” The fidgeting was anything but comforting. Tobirama pushed passed him, immediately scanning the room for the furball. It had been only a few hours since he’d gotten him; Heikou would skin him alive for losing him so quickly.

Before he could properly panic, Madara spoke up, his voice coming from the far side of the kotatsu. “The cub’s just fine. I’ve got him.” Tobirama had to stretch up on his toes to see the Uchiha, finding his cub curled up on the man’s chest, melting into some cheek scritches. The man’s hair was fanned out around him, reading glasses perched on his nose, his eyes closed as he ran gloved fingers through the leopard’s fur.

He forced himself to look away. Seeing Madara’s face so unusually soft had something warm blooming in his stomach, and he had no idea what it might be. Not understanding things had always made him uncomfortable; feelings had always been Hashirama’s forte, not his own. He was more than glad to leave whatever it was behind to put away his groceries.

“Tobira!” Hashirama followed after him, giving his best ‘I’m trying to chastise you’ look, standing with his hands on his hips. “You can’t just kidnap-catnap? Cubnap?” He shook his head, hair whipping around him. “You can’t just catnap wild animals! What if its mom comes looking for it?”

Tobirama shoved the fresh fish into the ice box, frowning at their low supplies. Next time, he should really check before going shopping; he’d have to go back out tomorrow. “Where, exactly, do you think I’d get a wild snow leopard?”

“Snow Country?”

Straightening back up, Tobirama shut the ice box, turning with his arms crossed. “Really.” Hashirama shifted his weight, swaying under his stare. “You think I went all the way to _Snow Country_ , without your knowledge, and made the journey back - all in a few hours?”

He rubbed at one temple when all the man did was give him a sheepish shrug, moving back towards the living room. “It’s a summon animal, Hashirama.”

The kotatsu was littered with documents; from what he could tell, most all of it pertained to the upcoming talk with the Hyuuga. Tobirama sat down next to the prone Madara, picking up some papers to look through.

“I thought your contract was broken.” Hashirama set down a cup for Tobirama, settling himself down as well, elbow on table and chin plopped in his palm.

“It was. We’re meeting with them in two weeks, yes? Who will be attending the talks?”

“Hashirama and I, you, my heir, a few elders from each clan.” Madara flopped a hand lazily towards the kotatsu, not bothering to open his eyes. “We’ve got a list somewhere.”

It took a bit of riffling to find the list, but Tobirama managed after a minute, pulling it over and taking a sip of his tea. The Senju elders were all listed out, but not one of them popped out at him. “I don’t recognize any of these names.” He tilted the paper towards Hashirama in question.

“The council of elders went through a bit of a… _renovation_ after you left.” There wasn’t anything warm about Hashirama’s smile, his umber eyes tight and cold. “The new council is much more loyal.”

There was something unspoken Tobirama felt he should be getting. The Hashirama sitting next to him was the one seen on the battlefield, hard-edged and ruthless. He decided to let the topic go, moving back to the list instead. Among the Uchiha going, he recognized two names: Hikaku and Hikaru, twins, the former having taken over the clan after his own Madara abandoned them. Just as Madara had said, his heir was going with as well; the list quite literally said ‘Madara’s heir,’ instead of listing a name like the rest.

“Izuna will be there then?” Hashirama stiffened at the name, pausing mid-blow of his steaming tea. Was his assumption wrong, or had he touched some other nerve? “Or do you have a child I’m unaware of, Uchiha?”

“No, my brother will be there.” Madara sat up, repositioning the cub into his lap. He was notably keeping his eyes on Hashirama, who seemed to have tensed even further.

“You don’t have to associate with him, Tobira.” Everything about his expression was tight, even his tone. Tobirama frowned at him, trying to figure out what might be causing his…concern? Apprehension? Unease?

“I’m sure we can manage to be civil with each other. We’ll have to talk at some point anyway.”

The tea cup shattered. Clay pieces flew across the table and floor, hot liquid splattering on a few of the documents. Fresh cuts littered Hashirama’s hand, boiling tea seeping into his clothes. He didn’t so much as blink an eye as he stood, frowning down at his bleeding hand.

“Ah. My bad. Excuse me a moment.” He moved off towards the bathroom without another word, steps uncharacteristically quiet and light as he went.

“Are you stupid?” The hissed words brought Tobirama out of his daze, whipping his head around to glare at the older man.

“What? Shouldn’t you both be happy? Surely it’s a dream come true, your brothers getting along.” Before the Uchiha could snap at him over the dry tone, he dashed off towards the kitchen to grab a hand towel. It might not save the documents, but it was certainly better than letting tea stain their nice cushions.

Madara frowned at him when he returned, pulling off his glasses to pinch at his eyes. “What exactly do you mean, you’re getting along?”

He shrugged one shoulder, picking up the stray pieces of clay and putting in a pile to throw away later. “We managed shabu shabu without killing each other.”

“Wait, you went out to eat with him?” His eyes widened in disbelief, and he leaned forward to hiss at him again. “What were you two _thinking_?”

“It wasn’t exactly _planned_ , Uchiha.” Just thinking about that lunch had his nerves shot, and he snapped right back. Eating alongside Izuna had hardly been on his bucketlist; it hadn’t been something he’d gone out of his way to do.

Madara breathed out harshly through his nose, burying a hand in his wild hair. “Just do us all a favor, and don’t mention even a _word_ of that to Hashirama.” That tone made Tobirama want to protest, long over the Uchiha ordering him about, but let it go as Hashirama reentered the room. The man was vibrant once more, seemingly stress free and at ease as he slipped back onto his cushion and smiled brightly at his company.

They had more important things to discuss anyway; Tobirama pushed the list of names away, tossing the hand towel under the kotatsu for the time being. He was loathe to bring that dark look back to Hashirama’s face. Such an expression hardly suited the carefree man; he could, and would, question Madara later on what set the man off about the younger Uchiha brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I am taking name suggestions!**  
>  Tobi's little cub needs a name, and, as much as I love naming characters, I thought I'd take some from you guys this time :) Any language is fair game, and I'm not picky about the gender the name's usually assigned to. I'll stop checking for names on Friday, to make sure I have plenty of time to finish the chapter up.
> 
> Names:  
> Heikou (帲恆) - Roughly "A consistent shelter"  
> Shyngyz (Шыңғыс) - Named after the oldest known snow leopard. The name itself comes from the word "Ghengis," as in Ghengis Khan. Shyngyz was captured in Kazakhstan but lives in Tama Zoo in Tokyo, and has had several cubs, including a daughter named Ena. In story, Shyngyz is female instead of male.
> 
> A bit on the snow leopards:  
> I made most of the summons much larger than actual snow leopards. The summons are also much more sociable in nature versus the solitary wild ones. They're still relatively pacifistic in nature, preferring non-aggression and avoiding fights more often than not - though they will fight alongside their summoners of course.
> 
> As always, questions/comments are both welcomed and greatly appreciated! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama goes to Madara for some answers - and ends up saying more than he meant to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than usual, but I thought it better to post _something_ rather than wait a whole week for the next update. I have a whole list of excuses for why it's so short (but let's face it, it's mainly due to procrastination).  
>   
>  ~~Also I cheated and kinda gave the leopard two names but oh well~~

Tobirama had never considered himself a nostalgic individual, seeing little need to hold onto keepsakes or knickknacks merely for their sentimental value. The few people close to him filled that part well enough, keeping him connected and content enough with his place in the world.

Even still, he’d found himself wandering Konoha as of late, tallying the differences he’d find on the handful of off-hours he’d allow himself. Taking note of the insignificant variations: how a distant relative’s house was a different color, or how the top step of Hashirama’s porch didn’t squeak. The mental list was unimportant in the grand scheme of things. He knew this, yet couldn’t help but remember every detail, laying in his futon far past when he’d planned to sleep, checking off each item and feeling his chest empty.

Despite his new hobby of roaming the village streets, he’d yet to set foot in the Uchiha compound. From what he could see, there was little change to note. A bakery in place of the tea shop Kagami had insisted he visit one weekend, some extra housing, a playground where one of the clan’s training grounds used to sit. The outside of the clan head’s house looked larger, the pathway up to the porched framed in small cherry trees instead of low shrubbery. His door looked the same, probably made of the same wood, handle made of the same metal.

Madara was home. He could sense him moving around the house, his chakra a beacon even in the midst of the other flames burning in the Uchiha district. And delaying at his door, studying the wood grain to put off speaking with him when Madara could no doubt sense him there, would only make the Uchiha suspicious.

It took only a moment for him to answer his door, cracking it open and eyeing his unexpected visitor warily. “What do you want?”

“I need to speak with you, Uchiha.” He’d debated coming here for days, not at all comfortable with being in such close proximity to Madara in his own territory. But, in the end, he had questions that only he could answer.

“And what makes you think I want you here?”

Tobirama hadn’t expected a welcome party. Even if this Madara seemed more willing to accept his presence, it hardly meant the man would want him in his own home. Knowing that had him at least somewhat prepared. It was a long-shot, but having less than a week to come up with something better left him little choice.

His plan came in the form of his cub, curled up and blending into the fur clipped around his shoulders. He plucked the tiny leopard up, holding him out in silent offer, tail swishing and paws dangling as the cub yawned at the early hour.

The lack of a better plan turned out to be a non-issue. Madara took the cub only a second after he was offered, propping him up on his shoulder and letting him rub against his cheek as he moved back into the house.

The inside of his house lacked flair, something Tobirama wasn’t sure whether to be surprised by or not. No plants, little on the walls besides a weapon display or two. Madara waved him off to the kotatsu, leaving him in the living room while he wandered off towards another part of the house.

A stand in one corner of the room held the Uchiha’s red-plated armor, something that went hand-in-hand with so many unpleasant memories. After a minute of having to choose between staring at it or having it at his back, Tobirama moved to follow him. The sound of a running faucet told him he’d gone to the kitchen anyway; there would no doubt be seating there as well. Having to talk at all had him on edge as is, and the reminders of their war surrounding him would only make that worse.

His cub greeted him with a trill, poking his furry face through Madara’s hair - which, now that he could see it better, looked like it hadn’t been brushed in days, tangled and knotted and sticking at odd angles.

He settled himself at the low table, more focused on the Uchiha’s state than the kitchen around him. Hair a mess, midnight blue yukata in place of the usual high-collared shirt and dark pants. No reading glasses or even gloves, mumbled voice a bit raspier than normal.

It was the coffee that confirmed everything, a mug shoved his direction as well, Madara settling in across from him and taking time to inhale the fragrant aroma of his dark roast.

“You just woke up?” He was more shocked than curious, already knowing the answer anyway. It was nearing noon; something about the Uchiha not rising with the sun just seemed wrong to him.

Madara didn’t bother answering anyway, watching the cub in his lap pace a circle before flopping over with a content huff. “Have you bothered to name him yet?”

He had, though he wasn’t sure why it mattered to him. “Kyou.” At the sound of his name, Kyou popped his head up over the table, mewing at his summoner.

“Kyou, huh?” Madara patted the cub’s head, letting him ‘catch’ his hand and chew on it. “To make him strong? Or is the little hellion already not listening to you?” He sounded far too amused by that idea.

Tobirama shook his head at both, glancing around the kitchen to explain quicker. “Neither. It’s meant to be for- do you not keep paper in here?”

“Why would I?”

The fact that the Uchiha seemed genuinely confused about how keeping paper and pens handy made Tobirama lose all hope in the rumors that he was intelligent. Tobirama’s own house had notebooks in every room, for when inspiration hit him or an unexpected break-through came when away from his office or lab. With Hashirama, it was a given he wouldn’t do the same; he had little interest in research or anything that required much thought really.

Instead of dwelling on the lack of order in the madman’s house, he reached out and grabbed Madara’s free hand, flipping it over to draw the correct kanji on his palm with a finger.

It was a little surprising that Madara allowed him to do it, only tensing for the first second and then just staring at his hand. When it was released, he went back to his coffee, sighing down at the cub in his lap. “You poor thing. Named after an idiot.”

Tobirama cocked his head, not sure who he could mean by that. “I’ve not met anyone with his name.”

“Hashi.”

It took him a second to understand, though understanding only made him more confused. “That’s not- I’ve never once called Hashirama that. And it’s not even the same kanji.”

“Try telling him that.” Madara nodded once, with all the air of having made an executive decision. “Hashi it is, then.”

“You are not calling him that.” Tobirama rubbed at his temple, elbow on the table and already done with this conversation. “Do you want Hashirama to get all emotional over that?” The sentimental fool would be in tears for days, blubbering on about some embarrassing nonsense.

“That’s your problem to deal with.” Madara rolled his shoulders back, stretching for a moment. When he relaxed back, he gave Tobirama an expectant look, tapping his mug on the table. “What did you come here for, Senju?”

Having to come to Madara for any answers had been far from ideal and felt a little like giving in - to what, he wasn’t sure. But Tobirama couldn’t keep letting everything throw him off-guard, couldn’t keep himself in the dark just to keep his pride intact. He finished off his coffee, swallowing his own displeasure from the situation with it and diving in. “Why doesn’t Hashirama like Izuna?”

“Why should he?” Madara seemed ready to shrug the question off, successfully playing off bored besides for the intent way he watched his guest. Tobirama gave his own shrug back; if Madara wanted to play nonchalant, he could do.

“What reason does he have not to? The war is done and behind us, after all. He’s never held a grudge before.”

“There’s a difference between hating Izuna and a random foot soldier. Some things can’t be forgiven.”

The words were spoken with such weight, like Madara understood all too well why Hashirama couldn’t let it go. But Tobirama couldn’t see what _it_ could be - what could cause Hashirama, the single most forgiving person he’d ever met, to act so out of character.

If he didn’t ask now, there was no telling if he’d ever understand.

“What did Izuna do?”

Madara scoffed in disbelief, though Tobirama wasn’t sure whether because he should already know the answer or if because he dared to ask. When all he did was give him an unimpressed stare in return, his eyes hardened. “Memory not what it used to be, Senju?”

“Head injury.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He never thought memory loss would as convenient as it was, nor that he would default to it as an excuse so often.

He looked unconvinced. Instead of calling him out, he seemed prepared to stare him down. Tobirama felt his eye twitch at the eye contact, from forcing himself to do exactly what he’d trained for years to avoid on instinct, but refused to look away and give Madara that victory.

“Izuna killed you.”

It shouldn’t have been a shock. He had fought Izuna for years, and knew he was a force to be reckoned with - perhaps not at Hashirama’s level, nor even Madara’s, but certainly his own equal on the battlefield. They had traded enough wounds to prove that.

But still, he hadn’t expected to hear that. In his own world, he had kept constant tabs on all different sources of information, keeping himself up-to-date on everyone around him, keeping everything easy and _predictable_.

This was exactly why he had come here. Not knowing the history of those he interacted with here made things infuriatingly complicated and uncertain.

“You actually don’t remember, do you?” The question cut through Tobirama’s thoughts, enough for him to register the actual surprise on Madara’s face. He shook his head in lieu of an answer, not commenting on how the Uchiha had obviously been testing him with his earlier statement.

Izuna being the one to kill him explained quite a bit perhaps - Madara’s reaction to him being alive, Hashirama’s reluctance for them to meet, a bit of his violence towards Izuna being brought up (though certainly not all of it. Yes, the Uchiha had killed his brother, but Hashirama had lost brothers before and still preached forgiveness. What made him so unwilling to do so now?) - but that only answered one of his questions.

“Why didn’t Hashirama want me to meet with the Hyuuga?” Really, it was odd how Hashirama reacted to any mention of politics when Tobirama was involved, but he thought it better to not ask such a broad question. Memory loss could only explain away so much, and there might not be another excuse for him not to know.

“Why are you asking me this? Go ask him.” He flicked his wrist as if to wave him off, giving his attention Kyou instead, who had started to wander around the room.

“He talks with you. Surely he’s mentioned something.” Kami only knew why Madara put up with the idiot, or why Hashirama bothered with such a socially inept bastard (Tobirama might be one as well, but they were _brothers_ ; Hashirama was all but required to put up with him). Reasons for their correspondence aside, Tobirama pressed him for the answer, ignoring the half-hearted attempt to make him leave.

Speaking to Hashirama about any of this was a non-option. The man might be an idiot, but he knew him too well; the last thing Tobirama wanted was for him to have an observational breakthrough before he could properly speak to him (which he was neglecting to do. Again). That left Madara as the _only one_ who could give him answers.

The fact that he was able to speak to _Madara_ on anything sensitive before his own bro-Hashirama was telling, though for the life of him Tobirama didn’t know _what_ it was pointing to. But introspection could be saved for later.

“Hyuuga Rin has been denying Hashirama for years, and only agreed to meet with him now when his heir was mentioned.” Kyou’s tail thumped loudly on the counter, the cub having spotted a window and heading straight for it. Madara watched him as he went, front paws on the windowsill while he watched the leaves fall outside. “Why would they be willing to meet now that you’re here?”

That was rather odd to hear. Heirs were certainly important as far as politics were concerned, but shouldn’t matter as much when discussing potential allies. Unless they were concerned whoever took over after Hashirama wouldn’t be willing to keep the peace.

Or if they wanted an arranged marriage. Which was certainly possible, but Tobirama _really_ hoped that wasn’t the case.

“I’m not sure.” It was probably safer to say as much, even if he had a few ideas. With no evidence to back any theories, they would only be speculation - and considering Madara’s famous ill-temper, he doubted the man was interested in mere guesswork.

“Kagami speaks highly of your teaching.”

Tobirama blinked at the topic change, finding himself responding before giving much thought to it. “Kagami’s a bright kid. One of the most promising I’ve taught.”

“You put up quite the fuss for someone who teaches so well.”

The casual observations were odd, to say the least. He wasn’t sure what angle Madara was trying to pull, or if he was pulling one at all. Still, he couldn’t exactly not respond to him; Kagami being his student was entirely based on Madara’s ‘good will.’ If he wanted to keep teaching him, he’d have to play nice.

That being said, he still wasn’t happy with what Hashirama pulled. “I don’t mind having a team - I _like_ teaching. What I _don’t_ like is not having a choice on the matter.”

He should probably let that go. It was childish not to. But he’d always been the one to hold a nasty grudge.

“You like teaching.” His own Madara had responded with the same disbelief, thinking the only reason Tobirama would teach anyone was for political gain. Considering who he had taken on as pupils, it wasn’t entirely hard to see the leap of logic.

But Tobirama hadn’t chosen his team over politics then, and he wasn’t now either. He felt his jaw clench, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that so hard to believe?” Yes, he was teaching the Shimura clan heir, but his other students would have little pull in their clans - and Kasumi didn’t even have a clan here, being the daughter of a tanner and a Kumo kunoichi. Komoto wasn’t far from that situation either, having lived with her father most of her life, a farmer off in the middle of no where. How anyone could assume his team was a political power move was beyond him.

He taught because he wanted to, and his students had all sought him out - with the exception of his current students, who had all been shoved onto him by Hashirama _and the man currently staring at him like he had a second head_.

“And Hashirama hasn’t told you why he doesn’t want you involved in politics?”

At this point, Tobirama was going to have mental whiplash. He let out a frustrated breath, tapping a finger against his arm. “No, he hasn’t. I assumed it was some overprotective instinct of his.” The gods only knew why the man thought it so necessary to smother him sometimes, but he’d done it since they were children. At least, his Hashirama had.

“You were surprised to hear about the Senju council.”

“Is there a point to any of this, Uchiha?” This was starting to feel eerily close to an interrogation, and he did not like that. Not at all.

He didn’t answer him right away, taking his time to sip at his coffee and pet Kyou, who had decided to lay down next to him. When he did respond, he did so calmly, challenge shinning in his eyes as he stared down his guest. “I happened on a rather interesting set of studies when visiting a Yamanaka friend the other night. For personal reasons.” He waved the information off like he thought Tobirama might question him on it. “Amnesia is certainly a finicky thing. Generic information loss, forgetting specific events, even the trauma that caused the memory loss. That being said, you seem to be suffering quite a bit from that head injury.”

Tobirama shifted uncomfortably on his cushion, but was not given the chance to explain himself as Madara bulled ahead.

“Senju Tobirama was well known for refusing any pupils, apparently loathing the idea of dealing with those _lesser_ than him. Yet you seem perfectly willing to take on more than even the norm, and speak as if you’ve taught many before.” He swallowed hard at the words, but Madara wasn’t done.

“According to Hashirama, you had met with the Hyuuga personally on several occasions, even setting up an alliance with them during the last years of your life - and they immediately severed ties with the Senju clan upon your death. Hyuuga Rin has refused to comment on why that is, of course.”

Madara drummed his fingers on the table, still pinning the younger man in place with his eyes alone. “I consider myself quite adept at sniffing out liars, which is why I’m certain you don’t know why Hashirama keeps you so far removed from political matters. Interesting, coming from a man who planned a coup, turned his entire council against his brother and ultimately forcing his hand against them.”

A coup. Against Hashirama? “That’s not…”

His quiet horror was ignored, Madara leaning forward as he continued. “You’ve made no political moves, in your clan or the village, despite your past. You teach an _Uchiha child_ as if you hadn’t thought of us as pests, hadn’t actively plotted to slaughter us. You speak with your brother as if you hadn’t planned to _kill_ him. And now you speak with me as if you have no knowledge of this.

“So tell me, _Tobirama_. Who are you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not planned for Madara to know before Hashirama. But apparently he gets to? He just...is way more perceptive than I thought he would be.
> 
> The cub's name:  
> TKP gave the suggestion Hashi (橋) which means bridge, and I _loved_ that idea. Because it was so similar to Hashirama, I thought Tobirama wouldn't use that pronunciation, so I went with Kyou (came kanji, just another way to read it) which was also given as a suggestion by Gracelte (though with kanji that meant 'cooperation' rather than 'bridge.') Madara asking what Tobirama meant with the name was due to how many different kanji can be pronounced as Kyou (like 強, for strong, and 協, for cooperation). Pretty much, Tobi's gonna _try_ to call his little cub Kyou, but thanks to Madara he'll probably be the only one who does.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left name suggestions! The names not picked will definitely be considered if any new characters pop up again (which will probably happen, considering there are so few canon characters for this time period).


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna put this here and pretend like it's not much later than I planned or anything...

Tobirama was losing his edge.

With the constant threat of war and defection no longer clinging to him, it had been easy to forget just what Madara was. In this setting, hair a mess, yukata slipping a bit over one shoulder, the scent of coffee in the air, he looked dangerously  _domestic_. And his obvious soft spot for the cub laying next to him had only made him seem less threatening.

Maybe, considering the circumstances, he could be forgiven for forgetting he sat across the table from a  _literal war god_. A man who had no equal, only surpassed in power and skill by Hashirama. Someone who had won whole battles by himself, reveled in the combat, bathing in fire and the blood of his enemies.

Tobirama was good, there was no denying that, and he excelled when underestimated by his opponents - something that happened all too frequently when facing the proud lineage of the Uchiha. But he stood no chance against this man in a fair fight. Let alone in the Uchiha’s territory - in his  _house_  - where any number of hidden weapons or wards could aid him.

And they had already made eye contact.

Keeping his breaths steady was proving difficult. Staying still and calm, no sudden movements, even more so. Maintaining said eye contact was giving him an outright stress-induced aneurysm.

He wasn’t entirely certain that last bit was the wisest decision, giving Madara even more of an advantage. But even if it pained him to admit so in the privacy of his own mind, that advantage ultimately meant nothing. If Madara wanted to fight him, he would, and he would win. With or without his dōjutsu. More concerning, then, was the potential of provoking him into an attack by taking that advantage from him, so he fought the instinct to look away.

Assuming he didn’t fluctuate it too noticeably, he was free to feel around with his chakra at least. Worse case scenario then, his hiraishin could save him - he’d thankfully taken time to place a few discrete anchors around Konoha during his new habitual wanderings, so he had several options if they became necessary.

But leaving without finding out what Madara knew was dangerous. There was no telling what he might spread, or to whom.

Or if he’d already spoken to someone on the matter.

Lying was an option. Without his sharingan active, Madara could very well be bluffing about being able to ‘sniff out liars.’ But what lie could he sell on such short notice if memory loss no longer cut it?

And would it truly benefit him to do so? To convince Madara he really was this world’s Tobirama?

His skin chilled just at the thought of his alternate self. A man who plotted to kill his own brother, plotted to kill  _Hashirama_. Even at their worst moments, fighting as children after the incident at the river, Tobirama had not  _once_  given thought to hurting him. Even when arguing clan politics, or when he knew full well Hashirama was holding back against defeating Madara, extending the war by years, on the days he thought his brother as nothing more than a fool not fit to lead the Senju, he  _never_  would have betrayed him.

Did he really want to be known as that man? Were they even similar enough for him to pass as that Tobirama for much longer?

And what could have driven his alternate self to that level of madness anyway?

A question for later, perhaps. The more pressing issue was convincing Madara he was not a threat - and the longer he sat saying nothing, the harder that would be.

The trickiest part about telling Madara, he found, was skirting around certain details without being too obvious about it. Without bringing up those touchy topics - mainly those involving his own Madara and Izuna, for obvious reasons - it proved to be a relatively painless conversation, despite how shot his nerves were from the start. And since Madara hardly needed a long-winded speech concerning every aspect of his life, the whole explanation lasted only a few short minutes (though it certainly felt like hours, with his brain on overdrive, processing every breath and blink as life or death information). It helped that Madara didn’t once interrupt him, not even to point out or question the less believable portions of his story - like how he still had no idea how he’d ended up here beyond just ‘fucked up hiraishin trial.’

The whole not moving a muscle thing, despite the ease of the explanation, had his blood racing on the edge of fear. Even after he’d finished, the silence stretching between them, Madara didn’t so much as twitch. Birds chirping from the gutters cut through the heart beat pounding in his ears, the scuffles of Kyou batting at something from his cushion managing to keep his mind there, away from the battlefield edging in his mind and memories.

When Madara finally moved, attempting in vain to brush the hair back out of his face, the flood of relief hit so hard it left Tobirama near exhausted from the loss of tension.

“So, you would have me believe you’re from a- what did you call it?”

“Parallel universe.”

“Yes, that.” Madara drummed his fingers on the table, though Tobirama couldn’t tell if it was from impatience or if the Uchiha was just as antsy from sitting still for too long. At least he looked away, giving Tobirama a moment to blink away at the burning sensation in his eyes. “So there really  _are_ different worlds.”

“It would seem so, though I’m not sure how...” Tobirama hardly noticed he had trailed off, too focused on Madara’s odd phrasing. As if he’d given thought to the possibility before, or ran across the idea at the very least. Which was hardly likely, seeing how rare the study seemed.

But what else could he mean?

"The Hyuuga situation was different there, I take it?” The tap of a fingernail against a mug brought Tobirama back from his thinking - it seemed to be a tick of Madara’s, to tap his fingers when he himself was thinking on something.

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose, but what do you  _mean_  ‘there really  _are_  different worlds’?”

He didn’t really expect an explanation, at the very least not a satisfactory one. And for a minute he received none, just a calculating gaze, neither hostile nor warm, as if Madara hadn’t yet determined whether he was a threat or not. After a time he stood up abruptly, sending his guest a sharp look.

“Stay put.” With his eyes alone, he threatened a swift and painful punishment if disobeyed. Tobirama did his best not to roll his own eyes as the man left him. The threat was unnecessary, though the fact that he could convey so much with a single glance was actually impressive.

Then again, he  _did_  come from a clan that specialized in dōjutsu. And now that he thought on it, most all of the Uchiha he’d met were capable of being extremely expressive through their eyes alone. Perhaps dōjutsu enhanced one’s expressive capabilities as well? Where there other side-effects beyond the obvious abilities given by the sharingan and the byakugan while activated? More passive ones that users wouldn’t think of as abnormal?

In an ideal situation, he would be able to interview and test subjects from the corresponding clans, but Madara would never allow such a thing. Even his own Hikaku had been hesitant to answer any of his more basic questions, and he’d always found Hikaku to be one of the more agreeable Uchiha.

Though, this Madara had proven to be quite different from the paranoid deserter who had denied him access before. For all he knew, this one might actually  _use_  that brain between his ears and see the importance of studying such seemingly menial details. After all, the side-effects might not be all beneficial in nature.

By the time Madara stormed his way back into the kitchen, footsteps no doubt audible on purpose even though his guest was more than capable of sensing him, Tobirama was all but prepared to launch into a speech on why he should be allowed access to the Uchiha archives. He was stopped short when a book landed heavy on the table in front of him. A rather familiar book that had him paling at the sight of it, swallowing at the sudden lump in his throat.

“How’d you get this?” The book cover alone had him turning away. It was the very thing that had haunted him months earlier, and just looking at it was enough to bring back some of the initial pain of discovery.

Madara grabbed both of their mugs, dumping out his own cold coffee in the sink before refilling them both. “You’re not the only one with Nara connections.” He shrugged as he sat back down, the movement displacing his yukata even more down his shoulder.

It’s not exactly how Tobirama would’ve put it but he didn’t bother correcting him. Though the wording did suggest Madara knew he’d read the same book. Tobirama narrowed his eyes, studying the Uchiha over his fresh cup of coffee. Just how much snooping had he done?

“How was it different?” The vague question came out of no where, and Tobirama only raised a single unimpressed brow in response, sipping at his fresh coffee. Madara waved his hand in gesture as he clarified, “The Hyuuga situation. How was it different?”

Tobirama pinched the bridge of his nose, setting his mug down carefully. Discussing the Hyuuga any further was the last thing on his mind. He was sick of the topic already. All he honestly wanted to do was go home and relax, maybe treat himself to a scone from the local bakery he’d become fond of. But leaving abruptly now wouldn’t be prudent, no matter how much he wished to do so.

“They were one of the first clans to join my Konoha.” He slumped forward with a sigh, propping his chin up on one palm. “It hardly took much to convince them. For all I know,  _everything_  could be different.”

“You’ve had experience dealing with them then.”

The fact that it was phrased as a statement spoke to how obvious that observation was. Still, he managed not to roll his eyes at the expectant look he was getting, Madara clearly waiting for an answer anyway. “Yes. I’ve worked with several of the main branch members on various occasions.”

“Good. No doubt they’ll want to speak with you personally.” Madara jabbed a finger in his direction, his no nonsense scowl offset by how his hair had yet to have been tamed. “Not a word of this ‘other world’ shit to them either. Better to let them think they know you.”

It took all of his self-control not to comment on how bossy Madara was being, or how ridiculous he looked doing so while still so under-dressed. But no matter how annoying he was being, there was logic enough behind his statements. With the Hyuuga so clearly having a connection to this world’s Tobirama, it could only be in their favor to continue this ruse with them - and it could gain him insight into the man he was essentially replacing, no matter how it sickened him to think on the matter.

Though all of this did beg the question...

“What of Hashirama?” He surprised himself, asking  _Madara_ of all people for advice on the issue. But the only other person who knew was Madoka, who had an infuriating habit of talking in circles about any issue. For once, he supposed, it would be nice to receive a blunt answer instead of being lead to his own conclusion.

“What of him?”

Tobirama rubbed at one of his temples, hoping his stash of headache powder hadn’t run out. The Uchiha could be so dense. Intelligent idiots were always so much harder to deal with than full-blown imbeciles. “Do you think it would be better for him to know before we meet with the Hyuuga or not?”

The silence stretched on a little too long for comfort. Tobirama scratched at a scar on his left arm, doing his best not to noticeably fidget. At least Madara seemed to be giving it serious though, which was more than he’d honestly expected. Maybe a scoff, a dismissal of the inquiry entirely. Perhaps anger on Hashirama’s behalf since he still didn’t know of the impostor living under his roof.

Instead, Madara fiddled with his mug, frowning down at the coffee swirling at the bottom of it.

“I’m not so sure you should.”

He tried not to let his relief show, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was at it. “I suppose a week wouldn’t be time enough to process-”

“I don’t think you should tell him.”

Tobirama paused mid word, mouth still open as he tried to understand what he’d just heard. It couldn’t have meant what he thought it did, but he asked anyway. “...ever?”

“What good would it do?”

The question only took him aback more, shaking his head as he stared in disbelief at the man across the table from him. “Should he continue to think the man who  _planned a coup against him_  lives under his roof?”

“The idiot’s always been too trusting.” Madara waved the question away with a flick of his wrist. “He’ll sleep the same no matter who you are.”

“But what’s the point in keeping it from him? It would only make it worse when I leave to go-”

“ _Leave_?” Madara’s dropped his mug back to the table, brows furrowed and voice raising slightly in volume. “And where, exactly, do you plan on going?”

“Back to my own Konoha?” Shouldn’t it be obvious he would be headed back there? Wasn’t that what he was  _supposed_  to do?

“You plan on leaving.”

Tobirama wasn’t sure if it was disbelief that colored his tone low, but it was his best guess. He averted his eyes once more, staring down at the book that had, in his mind, started this whole mess.

“I don’t belong here.”

“Don’t belong? You’re here already, what harm is there in staying?”

Tobirama pursed his lips, sipping at his coffee if only to avoid looking at his host. “I have a team back home, and my own brother to return to.”

“Would they have not already mourned you? You’d be dead to them by now.” His head snapped up at the harsh statement, but Madara wasn’t done, jaw set hard and chin raised high. “You have a team and brother here, and you would force them to do the same? To needlessly mourn your loss over something as idiotic as  _not feeling like you belong_?”

It took a second to remember how to breathe, and when he finally did it was shakier than he’d hoped. “I’m not his brother...”

“You honestly think he’d see it that way? That it would matter to a single one of your students what world you were born in?”

He shook his head, not sure really how to respond, more grasping at straws as he answered. “You don’t care about how my team would take it.”

Madara crossed his arms in a huff, though there was not a hint of shame as he continued. “No, I don’t. The brats would get over themselves eventually. Nor do I care about whatever Konoha you came from or the people there. What I  _do_ care about are my  _own_  people - and this village would crumble without Hashirama.” He leaned forward then, eyes set hard, finger tapping on the table once more. “Do you know what Hashirama went through, losing his last brother? It  _broke_  him. And the only thing that kept him from following him to the afterlife was his desire to make this village work. He wouldn’t survive losing you as well.” Leaning back once more, Madara scratched at the back of his head, fingers snagging in the tangles there for a second as he did so. “And I have better things to do with my time than coddle him again.”

Silence fell around them once more, the only sound being the soft padding of Kyou’s paws as he made his way to curl up in Tobirama’s lap. After a time he gathered his cup up, standing with a polite thank you to Madara as he made his way to leave.

“Tobirama.” He paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder to find Madara leaning against the wall, his hair still an absolute mess and his yukata disheveled but every bit of him serious all the same. “It’s not my decision to make. Whatever you choose, just don’t be stupid about it.”

He gave a curt nod and left, holding his cub firmly against his chest as he wandered about the village in a thoughtful daze. When he came to, he was staring at the front door to Hashirama’s home, the massive earth energy pulsing a happy rhythm meters away in the living room.

Opening the door took effort, and the beaming smile sent his way made his heart ache. He slipped out of his shoes before moving to sit next to Hashirama, the man instantly dropping his novel to coo and pet the cub that had startled him to near death not long before.

“Have you decided to name him yet?”

Tobirama reached back to scratch at his cub’s ear, swallowing as he stared down at the floor. “Yes. His name is Hashi.”

The crushing hug and excited flailing at the name was a small price to pay to make Hashirama happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if any of you follow me over on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/officerjennie), you'll already know this: I'm not gonna be cranking out the chapters/stories as much as I did in these last few months. My WIP are by no means going to be abandoned, but they won't have a strict updating schedule for personal-ish reasons.
> 
> Still, if you haven't seen me update in a while, or just wanna throw ideas my way, or wanna find out what of my many WIPs I'm working on, feel free to pop on over to tumblr and bug me!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to meet with the Hyūga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the shortness (and lateness) of this chapter. It's more of a 'part 1', and I just wanted to throw something out there because I missed this story something _fierce_.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~and so y'all don't start thinking it's been abandoned~~

It was odd that such political importance would be placed on a day that started so inauspiciously. Tobirama rose with the sun, taking an extra moment to soak in the rays peeking in through the curtains. His ever growing plant collection drank in the light as well, and maybe it was a trick of the light or years of babbled nonsense infecting his sanity but he could’ve sworn they looked happy.

More than likely it was the former. He gave one final stretch, collapsing back to stare up at the ceiling and count the seconds leaking away from him.

After thinking on and rethinking the situation, Tobirama still didn’t know if he wanted to go or not. Logically, he knew it really didn’t matter either way; he would meet with the Hyūga alongside Hashirama, and no amount of second guessing how smart the idea was would get him out of it. At least Madara would be there as well.

Tobirama frowned up at the ceiling, not entirely sure why that should make the situation any better. Without an answer presenting itself he tossed the covers off, deciding that then was as good a time as any to ready himself for their journey.

Perhaps the oddest thing about the morning was how much quieter the Senju main household was than normal. Hashirama was already awake, absently stirring a cup of hot tea where he sat at the kitchen table. With no signs of him having already had breakfast, Tobirama got to work fixing them both something light and simple. No matter that they were shinobi, used to discomforts on the job, no one wanted to travel on a full stomach.

After months of being welcomed into his life with a beaming smile and open arms, it was difficult to know how to react to Hashirama being so withdrawn. Silence hung in the cool morning air, nothing but the quiet clink of silverware and the chirp of insect song to break through the unease.

It felt nothing like the rejection from his own brother, at least. Even without a word between them Tobirama didn’t feel shut out. Not that that made him feel much better. His stomach still twisted around the rice he’d reheated for them, shoulders tensing in wait of the dismissal he had no real reason to expect.

Parallel universes were certainly oddities. He peered over his coffee at the thought, studying the man so alike his Hashirama in ways and yet so drastically different from him in others. What was it that separated their paths? Surely it couldn’t have been merely his and his counterpart’s influences alone - no matter that this world’s Tobirama had been a far cry from himself, he found it hard to believe that one person could affect so much.

He could have hardly been the start of the ripple effect, anyway. What in this world could have set the native Tobirama down such a dark path to begin with?

“We should get going.”

Thoughts cut short, Tobirama gave a short nod. Both Senju got up with reluctance, dishes cleaned and set up to dry while they grabbed the supplies waiting for them at the door.

* * *

 

The Senju had yet to arrive. Not that he was honestly surprised by that. Madara leaned against the outer gate of his village, keeping a watchful eye on his brother out of sheer habit at this point. There wasn’t much trouble he could get into, and not much trouble to find him either - but Madara always found himself on edge whenever both his best friend and brother were involved.

Speaking of which… Madara shifted to face the gate, feeling the Senju’s approach long before he could actually see them. Chakra signatures that large were hard to ignore, and he’d been tracking their movements from the moment he’d woken up (far too gods damned early) anyway.

Bad habits. Tracking his allies as if they were enemies, his anxiety easing with the close tabs he’d kept on them. Little he could do about that now, after decades of having it ingrained into his nature. At the very least, it worked in his favor, allowing him to step into Hashirama’s line of sight to block him spotting Izuna so early.

Not the most subtle way to start what was sure to be a taxing day, but he’d never been known for his subtlety. The two would no doubt be forced to interact at some point over the negotiation period but there was hardly need for them to start now.

“What, can’t even be on time with someone else to wake you?” It was meant to break the tension before it could build. Harsh ribbing had always played a part in their friendship, and it came easily enough to Madara for him to default to it then. A little late, he realized that referencing the brothers’ differences might not be the best idea.

Sure enough, Hashirama visibly stiffened, his expression as hard as his tone was light. “I apologize for our lateness. With any luck, we shouldn’t have to dely much longer.” Madara scowled, more at himself than anything else, as Hashirama took a few moments to look around them. “Where are the Nara representatives?”

“Still in bed, more than likely.” Why they had to choose their former territory above a clan’s who actually understood punctuality was beyond him. Sure, they’d been a neutral enough choice, but so were the Yamanaka and the Shimura, and the latter of which would have been here an hour early if council meetings were anything to go by. Not to mention using their old territories would have made for a shorter travel distance, but gods forbid someone listened to him for once.

Waiting around for them to arrive sounded worse than getting his head stuck in an ice box - which had never happened, no matter what rumors Izuna liked to spread in his spare time. Madara shifted his weight, forcing himself not to check his brother’s position visually. It didn’t help that Izuna had dampened his chakra, as he always did whenever near their hokage, and feeling it so dim put him further on edge.

They were all on edge. Hashirama’s shoulders were stiff, back like steel and his eyes focused on the road ahead. Tobirama stood back and to the side, not a word from him, his focus clearly on the brother he was also so clearly avoiding looking at.

Great. There was a several hours journey ahead of them, and it had already reached unbearable levels of awkward. Arms crossed with a huff, Madara glared over at the gap in the open gate, debating how much worse it could get if he stormed the Nara compound and drug the bastards out here himself.

If he could even find the right Nara. He’d never personally met the two that were supposed to be traveling with them, which didn’t exactly bode well for his potential search for them.

Luck was on the Nara’s side at least, since they arrived before Madara had made up his mind or not. It didn’t stop him from snarling at their lateness, his nerves more than frazzled and on into ‘non-existent’ territory.

“We’re meeting the Hyūga for Konoha’s benefit, or have you forgotten that already?” He pushed past Hashirama to stand over the infuriatingly unimpressed Nara boy, hand itching to wack sense into his thick head. “If I’d wanted to wait all morning on dragging asses, I would’ve gone to the countryside!”

“Why would the farmers’ donkeys be slow?”

“You!” Madara turned on his heel to jab a finger into Tobirama’s chest, not at all liking how his first words were to poke logic into his insults. “That’s not the- _shut up_!”

He didn’t like how Tobirama’s lips twitched then. There was no amusement to be found here, and the fact that Tobirama found some anyway just set his blood boiling even more.

Before he could snarl anymore and give the white bastard a piece of his mind, Hashirama cleared his throat, stepping forward to greet the Nara boy - as well as the Nara woman who had joined him.

“Yuko-kun, Yasu-san.” He gave each a cursory nod, nothing but the air of a leader about him. “I believe you’re the last to arrive, so if you would?” Gesturing to the road ahead, Hashirama waited for the Nara to lead the way.

* * *

 

The run was nothing special, just trees and road and general travel. It was land Tobirama had crossed plenty enough that he paid little attention to the details, focusing instead on how rigid Hashirama was becoming the further they traveled, how Madara carefully kept himself between his brother and the Senju party. Feeling the two Uchiha signatures running alongside them was an entirely new experience, one he had to remind himself a few times didn’t mean battle was around the corner.

Instincts had saved him too many times to count, but it didn’t make them any less annoying when he knew they were wrong.

They reached the old Nara compound well before noon. It was easy enough to confirm the Hyūga had arrived as well, though it would still be an hour or so before they officially met. Political meetings were stiff affairs even among the noble shinobi clans, and Yuko ushered them into one of the larger houses to properly dress for the occasion.

With no one but Hashirama in the room with him, it fell to silence to keep them company. Only the rustle of fabric broke though the quiet, Tobirama doing his best to give Hashirama space without seeming too distant - a delicate balance he was still working on, not quite sure if he was being successful or not.

They’d hardly had time to straighten their formal kimono when Madara came barging into the room, already dressed in his own. He tisked the moment he set eyes on Hashirama, storming over to gripe at his friend while shoving his hands out of the way.

“You’re not _dead_ , you idiot, you fold it the opposite way - how many times do I have to tell you this?”

Tobirama ignore the both of them, smoothing out the few wrinkles on his kimono while he waited for them to finish getting ready. He ran through a mental checklist of the items they would be discussing as well; no matter that he’d mainly be there for show, he wanted to be as prepared for the meeting as possible. At the very least he needed to seem like he knew exactly what was going on around him, to look competent and sure in both his position and the leadership he followed.

“At least yours is on right.”

Tobirama half turned at Madara’s grumbling, finding himself instantly thrown off when the Uchiha stepped fully into his personal space. His surprise was only compounded when Madara reached out and patted down his collar, even standing up on his toes to tug the back of It into a more proper position before standing back and scrutinizing his outfit more.

“It’ll do.”

Whatever confused noise he made was thankfully covered up by Hashirama’s habit of practically stomping all over the place, Hashirama coming up next to the both of them, clapping a companionable hand on Madara’s shoulder. “I suppose we should get going, then.”

Madara’s groan sounded near childish, his head dropping back as he stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds. “If even one of them starts off about how their byakucrap is better than the sharingan, I’m setting the whole lot of them on fire.”

If Tobirama were being honest with himself, he didn’t quite know if that threat was all smoke or not. Either way, he followed the both of them out of the room, heading off to what was surely going to be his biggest headache since crashing into this universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On wearing kimono: When alive, one wears the left side wrapped over the right - it is the opposite for those who are dead.


	13. Chapter 13

The meeting was going so much worse than Tobirama could have predicted it would.

Anger and frustration were coming off of Hashirama in waves, something in all his life he’d never felt from the man before, expecting it more from Madara than anyone else. It wasn’t quite equaled by said Uchiha though it was a close thing, Madara’s fists clenching into the fabric of his formal kimono, Izuna likewise stiff but better managing to keep his expression schooled where he sat at Madara’s right.

No one could blame either of them for their fury, least of all when concerning Hashirama himself with how little his presence seemed to matter to the Hyuuga seated across from them at the rather large table.

They had been in the room for hours, though it had dragged into metaphorical days, the room sweltering around them from the increasingly heated arguments hurled back and forth between the two parties. It had been a comfort of sorts at first to see Hyuuga Rin sitting at the head of the other party, a known factor that set his mind at ease, but he soon regretted ever feeling any sort of companionship with the woman when she set herself against everything placed before her.

She refused to acknowledge Hashirama. No matter what question was asked, or by whom any statement was made, her attentioned remained firmly to Hashirama’s left - and with every instance of her purposely ignoring Konoha’s leader for a man with only questionable titles at this point the tension in the room grew.

It was at exponential levels at that point. Tobirama purposely averted his gaze from her unless absolutely necessary, deflecting any and all questions and statements to Hashirama - as was proper of him, expected of him, no matter that she seemed determined to get _his_ input above all others. And even whenever he did the proper and right thing, she would only slid her gaze right over to Madara, not even bothering to address the Uchiha with any formal titles whenever she would repeat her questions or statements to him.

All he could assume was that Madara’s suspicions had been right - a collusion of sorts _had_ to have gone down between the Hyuuga and this world’s Tobirama before his death. Why else would the Hyuuga refuse to look at Hashirama, refuse to accept that he had any sort of power or say in their conversation? Why else would they be speaking to Tobirama as if _he_ lead the Senju, or held the most significant position within Konoha?

He was about to excuse himself, no matter how rude or unprofessional it would be, when Hashirama finally interjected - this time with enough force to quiet the whole room, the sharp spike in his chakra making even the Hyuuga flinch and snap her head to him.

“Since the night is not agreeing with you, Hyuuga-san, we will continue this discussion tomorrow. Perhaps then we can make some headway into how Konoha and the Hyuuga could work together in the future.” Without waiting for a response, and with all the air of someone who didn’t _need_ one, Hashirama left them.

It took a few moments for the rest to process his departure and follow suit, Izuna and Madara in particular staying back and watching the rest leave, Madara leaning over to speak quietly with his brother as he narrowed his eyes over at the Hyuuga delegation. Tobirama himself had no real desire to follow after Hashirama, but one glance over at Rin had him up and out the door anyway. It was bad enough that she’d tried constantly to undermine Hashirama’s political sway and power with several important figures there watching them; the flicker of her eyes saying she wished to speak in private made a rot settle in his stomach.

Not for the first time, he wondered just what his counterpart had been planning. His full plan, and how the Hyuuga might have played into it. Had they been actually involved in the plot to overturn Hashirama? And what benefit was there for them to back Tobirama over the official Senju heir?

He didn’t get long to ponder on it. Though Hashirama had been headed towards their room neither of them made it there, Tobirama stopped short by the feel of the hokage’s fury, the man physically stepping into his path in the middle of the long hall.

“Don’t think for _one second_ I’ll put up with this again.”

The anger, the set of Hashirama’s jaw, the hard edge to his eyes - it all had Tobirama blanking, subconsciously leaning back from the words continuing to be hissed between the other’s teeth.

“In case you’ve forgotten, _I’m_ the clan head - _your_ clan head - and _I_ am the elected leader of the village. I won’t tolerate anyone trying to upset my authority. Do I make myself clear?”

He could feel himself shutting off. His whole body felt cold despite how fiery and angry the hall felt around them. Heard his own voice, automatic and calm despite of himself. “Yes, hokage-sama.”

Whether or not that was the proper response, he couldn’t tell. As he was he couldn’t detect any fluctuation in Hashirama’s chakra, nor did he see whether his expression changed or even twitched at his words. He also had no recollection of how long he stood in that hall, empty and alone, staring without seeing, waiting with his shoulders tense as if he wasn’t quite certain it was done or not.

It took effort to walk away, his first move being to turn on his heels, walking the halls aimlessly until his feet met damp earth and grass. The woods was where he made his bed that night, perched in a tree overlooking the old compound, doing his best to draw his senses inward and ignore how everything in him screamed at not being able to feel those in the distance - and nothing but the night insects and the wolf’s bane on the forest below to keep him company.

 

* * *

 

Dawn had not yet touched the sky with color before something woke him. It wasn’t difficult to pinpoint what - in his sleep, there was little Tobirama could do to dampen his sensing ability, and even though Hashirama had been well within his range the whole night feeling anyone approach would make him stir.

That he was there before his normal waking hours was a bit concerning. As was how unsettled the man felt as he came closer. Tobirama landed quietly at the forests edge, stepping away from the wolf’s bane to wait for him next to an oak - just on the off chance that he wasn’t coming to speak to him and was merely heading off for a late night stroll.

Luck wasn’t in his favor, however. Hashirama found him only a minute later, trouble written in the crease of his brow and the tense clenching and unclenching of his fingers.

Tobirama wasn’t ready to argue with him.

“Tell me what I did.”

At first, all he could do was stare at Hashirama. Without any context for the statement, request, whatever it was, Tobirama really had no clue what the other man might be on about. It worked in no one’s favor, how shut off he always seemed whenever confronted or perplexed, because Hashirama clearly took it as him refusing to answer, his jaw grinding as he shifted further into himself.

“You’re doing it again. Refusing to look at me, to _really_ look at me. I’m not an idiot - don’t think I haven’t noticed how you refer to me.”

Tobirama shook his head, seeing the flicker of hurt in Hashirama’s eyes even as he was already speaking, “I don’t know what you’re-”

“ _Yes_ , you do!” It was snapped out, cutting Tobirama off before he could ask for any sort of clarification, Hashirama’s face twisting in a mixture of pain and anger. “When was the last time you called me anything but my name or title? When was the last time you called me your brother? I might not be as smart as you, or Madara, or even _his_ brother, but I can recognize patterns. And this is _exactly_ how it all started the first time - with you pushing me away and refusing to see me as your family.”

He felt his heart drop, exhaling sharply as he stared at the nearly distraught man before him. He had the wrong idea - entirely the wrong idea, because Tobirama would _never_ attempt to push him away in such a fashion, not for any reason that this universe’s Tobirama had.

Though…what other conclusion could he have drawn from his actions? He leaned against the oak at his back, knowing he was making the situation worse by taking his time but finding his thoughts spiraling too fast to make any sensible speech at the moment anyway.

In some fashion…Hashirama was not wrong. There hadn’t been a single moment Tobirama had allowed himself to even _think_ of the man in front of him as his brother since he’d discovered the truth, and that distance he’d forced between them was now glaringly obvious. He _had_ been purposely pushing the man away, purposely thinking of him as someone he had no familial ties to - because what else could he have done?

But he still had it wrong. Wrong in a way that twisted Tobirama’s insides, horrified at himself for ever doing _anything_ that could mirror the actions of a man that had torn this Hashirama’s heart into pieces.

“That’s not what’s happening.”

It wasn’t in the slightest bit convincing, one look up told him that much. He’d never been very good at talking to people, even those closest to him, and he’d never dealt with any version of Hashirama in such a state anyway - so clearly hurt by everything he was saying, certain he had it all figured out, and that Tobirama was _betraying_ him.

A single, fleeting thought was given to wondering if that’s what his own Hashirama had looked like when he’d run off after Madara. Drawn into himself, wounded in a way his body couldn’t heal, torn and almost fragile despite his best efforts to stay put together. But no more than an instant was wasted on such useless pondering. It didn’t matter if he had or not, because Tobirama had not been there to see it. Knowing either way wouldn’t help him figure out how to prove to _this_ Hashirama that he wasn’t going to go down that path, hadn’t _already_ gone down that path. Wouldn’t betray him in such a horrible fashion.

Except, he didn’t have to think about it. Tobirama knew exactly how to prove he wasn’t that man.

“You’re wrong, Hashirama. I’m not.. It’s complicated.”

“I’m wrong,” Hashirama repeated him, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. “Of course I’m wrong. I’m always wrong. It doesn’t matter what I say or do, you’ll find fault in it - down to my birthright, since I didn’t even deserve the Senju name. So go on then, tell everything I’ve done wrong, everything I’m wrong about this time.”

That reeked of a past hurt, a past conversation Tobirama had no knowledge of. He had to swallow back his sudden and rightful fury at whoever had stood in his place years before. The gods protect this world’s Tobirama if he ever found a way to speak to the dead, because he would also be finding a way to make the dead _fear_ him.

But for now, the fear was haunting him instead. It didn’t matter that he’d told his story twice before - with Madoka, there had been only the fear of them telling someone else, namely the person he was speaking to at that moment. There had been no personal relationship between the two prior to him coming to this world, on either of their sides, and therefore the impact would only reach so far as their own personal experiences with one another, which were already rather limited in number and significance.

With Madara, there had been plenty of fear. The interaction was tainted by the oily shadow of his own world’s Madara, a man he couldn’t trust to guard his back even against a mutual enemy _on their best days_ , let alone near the end of their ‘alliance’. But that had been a situation thrusted upon him; he’d had no choice behind telling Madara, and having been given so little time to think past saving his own skin had made the potential consequences seem minor in comparison.

Now, with both of their pasts leaking through holes raked into their experiences with each other, all Tobirama could think about was the potential injury his story would cause the already damaged man before him. How it might tear him apart further, might makke their relationship unmendable in the end, break what little trust he’d earned in the first place.

He still told him. Everything, from the very first experience he knew that differed in their pasts. No matter that he’d never been one for tales and story telling, every minute detail seemed important, and once the words started he found he had to force himself not to rush to the end, staring at the damp grass and dirt between them at the very first sign of disbelief and _something else_ on Hashirama’s face that he never wanted to have to name.

When he was finished, his breath shuddered. Silence dragged in the absence of his voice. The sun peeking up over the compound behind Hashirama, casting a long shadow over them.

Hashirama left without a word to him, and all Tobirama could do was sink to the ground and think of what he’d done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aconite, or wolf's bane: Hatred or "be cautious" in flower language. Also called Leopard's Bane
> 
> (a bit more on aconite, in case anyone's interested: typically, aconite grows naturally in more mountainous areas, but I imagined the Nara finding a way to grow it near their compound despite it probably not being the perfect soil or growing grounds for them. Aconite actually has a lot of toxins present in every part of the plant, the most deadly being aconitine - which is a rather potent nerve poison. Being shinobi and junk, this sort of thing would be useful to them; even if not for themselves or for their own weapons, to sell and bring in profit to the clan.)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, this story and all my other ones are supposed to be on hiatus, but a certain few friends were _very rude_ and supportive and shit. So. This is for them. You know who you are, and I hate you )--------(
> 
> Also, potential TW: Mentions of alcohol abuse

No one knew where Hashirama was.

A half lie, of sorts. Madara and Tobirama could sense him somewhere off in the woods, at a boiling point that the former knew not the reason for. Saying that they _knew_ without knowing why he’d gone there, what purpose he had for missing the morning meeting, why he might think wandering off was more important than meeting with the Hyūga party…

It was easier to lie. Perhaps not a successful lie, given how blankly it was spoken the moment Tobirama could bring himself to speak at all - give how narrowed all the pupil-less eyes were at him as he did so, and how half the party at his own back and side stiffened at his news.

Being the last person to see Hashirama probably didn’t look good. Not that it mattered to him at the moment, with how heavy each breath felt, how his whole body seemed to want to drag to the ground.

Going to bed and starting over fresh in the morning sounded like a fantasy, but it was one he didn’t have the luxury of tasting. There was an entire day of negotiations planned and just because their leader was missing didn’t excuse him or anyone else present from their duties.

By the time afternoon rolled around, the Hyūga were getting impatient. There were protests, snide comments, suspicious whispering - all of which sounded distant and dull, hardly more than the typical droning of councils and elders and their ilk. Not of a word of it truly registered to him, not even when Madara took over to make as much of the day as he feasibly could with his position and rank.

Tobirama had memorized more patterns in the opposite wall than words that were said in the past several hours. His attention was only captured when he felt movement in the distant signature he’d kept shameful tabs on the entire day, making him speak up for the first time since he’d admitted their hokage was absent.

“Hashirama’s on his way.”

The quiet hardly registered then - his whole day had been quiet despite the endless buzz and arguments, underwater as it all had felt. It still took another half hour before their hokage joined them, and by then the quiet had been replaced by more distant noise. Madara for his part refused any more negotiative talk, repeating hotly that they would wait for Hashirama to actually _be_ there before speaking on any matters of importance.

When Hashirama finally arrived, Tobirama couldn’t bring himself to look at him. Just the feel of his chakra told him everything he needed to know, the thick swirling of hurt and disbelief and something that felt _red_ making him want to sink into the floorboards.

“Forgive me for missing the meeting this morning. I had much to think about.”

Hashirama wasn’t sitting down. The cushion next to Tobirama stayed empty and cold, making him twitch, wanting to glance back and see why Hashirama was just standing behind them and not joining their party.

“Considering who first suggested putting off the talks until this morning, I find myself disbelieving Konoha’s commitment to any potential alliance between us. Disappointing.” At least this time Rin was directing her statement directly at Hashirama. Not that it made it much better; she was clearly attempting to twist the situation in her favor, something rather easy to do given the circumstances. Especially when dealing with someone as non-savvy with political discussions as Hashirama. He might have been raised to be a clan head, to be in political power, but he’d always believed the best in people. It made him easier than most to manipulate, and Tobirama feared this situation would be just like many he’d had to subvert in his own world.

Except, in this world, he had few ways to subvert such tactics. With his own supposed past, with what little trust he had in those sitting at his side… Tobirama was little more than _useless_ here, only making things worse at every turn, by the simple act of _existing_.

At least his self-wallowing was short lived, Hashirama’s voice cutting through his thoughts and making his gaze snap back up away from his lap.

“There is little reason to believe the Hyūga have any sort of commitment to the idea, either.”

Not untrue, but not something Hashirama would normally admit. It was enough for Tobirama to peek ever so slightly up and back at him, finding his expression stern and hard, not at all like the inviting man that had originally greeted the Hyūga less than two days before.

What a taxing time it had been on him.

“That being considered, I believe there is little reason to continue negotiations. Until the Hyūga are willing to _negotiate_ , the meetings are over.”

“What.”

Madara’s loud and rather incredulous statement earned him a nasty look from Hashirama, who then only turned on his heel and left them all staring after him, all as confused and thrown off as the man’s best friend was.

The quiet lasted only a few moments, then everyone was on their feet. Madara rushed after Hashirama, leaving Izuna to deal with the few confused elders that had accompanied them from Konoha. Their Nara hosts moved faster than Tobirama had ever seen any Nara move outside of battle, ensuring that there would be no spilled blood over the abrupt ending by keeping tempers as cool as possible.

Rin, for her part, dropped all pretenses and moved immediately to Tobirama’s side. With her voice so low there was little chance it would carry to anyone else, and even still she leaned in close, her mouth obscured from view as she whispered her poison to him.

“We both know where the Hyūga stand. And which Senju would lead Hi no Kuni towards the correct path.”

It took conscious effort not to reel back from her but Tobirama managed, giving a short bow and dismissing himself. Nothing could make him stay near such a person, one who would encourage another to turn on their own supposed kin.

His retreat didn’t get him far. Not for the first time he found himself cornered in the halls of the old Nara estate, this time stopped by a firm grip on his arm, a rather peeved Madara ready to hiss at him.

Peeved probably wasn’t the best word for it, but it was difficult to find the right word for whatever mix of bewilderment, anger, and concern that kept flashing in Madara’s eyes.

“What, exactly, was that all about?”

“Your suspicions were right. About the Hyūga.”

From the second or two that Madara took then, that hadn’t been what he was talking about - it occurred to Tobirama a bit late that Madara had already left the room when Rin had cornered him, so he wouldn’t have seen her approach him at all. But Madara caught up quickly enough, stepping in closer as his eyes cut up and down the hall. “Were they going to try something?”

It was a difficult question to just say no to, considering Tobirama didn’t know for certain one way or another - even without any evidence suggesting they _would_ try to make a physical attempt at Hashirama, shinobi knew better than to suspect the best of people. So he settled for honesty, shaking his head and simply admitting, “I don’t know.”

Madara’s lips pursed, his hand warm where it still held Tobirama’s upper arm. “If you don’t know, then Hashirama wouldn’t know shit either. So what was his fit over?”

Without speaking to him, there was no way of fully knowing what had come over him. But Tobirama could guess what one catalyst was - something he really didn’t want to bring up here, where anyone could overhear them.

Not that he needed to name it. His guilt must have been stamped across his face because Madara was groaning a moment later, fingers tightening and then jerking him an inch down so Madara could hiss right in his face.

“Did it have to be _now_ , Senju? _Why_ would you tell him _now_? Out of all the damned times you could bring it up - and here I thought _he_ was the idiot between the two of you.”

“And what is it you’re worried he brought up with me?”

No one should have been able to sneak up on two sensors of their caliber. And if Tobirama had been in any sort of mind to see humor, it would have been rather comical seeing Madara so startled. Though he jumped just as much, and all he could think was how he must look just as he had as a toddler, caught red handed burrowing into the ceremonial clan furs in his mother’s closet.

Hashirama looked a lot less amused than his mother had, though. Anything _but_ amused, really, his normal easy stance and smile still missing, lost in favor of a silent sternness that would’ve suited his father better than the man before him.

They all stood staring at each other in the quiet hall for a while, some sort of bustle elsewhere reaching them but not disturbing the air about them. But eventually something in Hashirama’s expression tightened, carob eyes flickering between the other two, an understanding making their hokage leave them as quietly as he’d snuck up on them to begin with.

Madara looked as small and full of guilt as Tobirama felt, and neither of them said a word as they watched Hashirama go.

* * *

It was clear to all present that the Hyūga and Konoha parties were not splitting off on good terms. The Nara at least made sure to stay civil and play the third party, despite having arrived with and planning to leave with the group from Konoha.

Tobirama found himself dragging towards the back as they made their way back to the village, aware of how heavily Hashirama’s chakra hung about them, of how it put every single one of them on edge. Yuko seemed to have picked up from Tobirama’s position that their leader’s mood involved him, but the Nara’s suspicious glances meant little to him.

As soon as Tobirama stepped foot inside Konoha’s gates, he broke off from the larger group, locating and heading straight for Komoto’s signature. Snow leopards were a far cry off of the farm animals she’d raised with her father but he’d felt comfortable enough leaving Hashi in her care while he was away.

He wasn’t in the mood to converse with her though. All he managed was a promise that their training would pick back up soon and he was gone, giving a polite nod to her mother as he left, a shinobi whose face he only just recognized as someone he’d seen once or twice around the village.

It would probably be good to get to know more about his students’ lives. Something else he’d been found lacking in. But right then all he wanted to do was rest and be with his cub, so despite it being only mid-day he wandered off to one of the more forested areas within the tree limits. He found the tallest tree in the area to settle himself into, lulling himself to sleep while absently spoiling and trading affection with the young summon in his arms.

The next few weeks followed a pattern. Tobirama’s days were spent avoiding the Senju compound, unwilling to push any boundaries or comfort levels by invading the space. It meant the tower was off limits as well, and more often than not he could be found wandering the woods surrounding Konoha, alone save for Hashi and the occasional forest animals that crossed his path. Hashi’s only quarrel with the situation seemed to be Tobirama’s mood, and he did everything he could to brighten Tobirama’s mood - though no amount of cub cuddles could fix his problems, the effort was noticed and appreciated at the very least.

He was left to his own devices for three weeks before he was hunted down. It was really the only way Tobirama could describe it as he stared down at the Uchiha barking up his tree one morning - everything about Madara’s stance said he was on the war path, his tone red as he demanded Tobirama ‘get his arse out of the tree’ or else he’d dragged him to the ground himself.

There was little point in arguing with him. Tobirama gathered Hashi up closer in his arms and jumped down, letting his cub settle on his shoulders as he dealt with the angry Uchiha. Who had a rather nasty black eye, now that he could see his face better. Probably not something he should bring up. Madara was a prideful bastard, and anyone getting a shot in on him would be a touchy subject.

“Should I drag a bed out here for you? Maybe pitch a tent while I’m at it?” A split second passed, Madara’s expression pinching a bit. “Not what I meant, shut up, _my point is_ \- do you plan on _living_ out here, or are you actually going to go home at some point?”

Whatever meaning Madara thought he might take was lost to him, Tobirama shaking his head at the last question. “I don’t think it’s wise to disturb Hashirama right now.” His own issues with home being too far away and out of reach to return to could be discussed preferably never.

“I just came from visiting Hashirama, and I’m tired of you both sulking in your corners. You Senju are worse than children.”

“You’ve not dealt with children much, have you?”

“I’ve dealt with that _man child_ for enough years, and it’s about damned time _you_ deal with the mess you left him in!”

That was enough to have him snapping back, one hand shooting up to make sure Hashi didn’t fall off his shoulder when he jerked forward to spit at the Uchiha. “ _I_ didn’t leave him in any sort of mess, don’t lump me in with whatever backwards monster was here before me.”

“ _Gods_ , could you be any more of an idiot?” Madara yanked a hand through his hair in frustration. Or tried to, and ended up fuming further when his fingers caught on some rather nasty knots. It was difficult to say with certainty but a hunch told him Madara hadn’t brushed his hair yet that morning. “Look, any idiot could tell you’re not _that_ Tobirama, but that’s not the point. The point is _you_ decided to drop a bomb on him at the _worst possible time_ , and now it’s about damn time you fixed it.”

That sounded like the furthest thing from what Tobirama wanted to attempt. Hashi started purring a bit, no doubt feeling him stiffen, one paw flexing into the fur across his shoulders as he tried to comfort him. “I don’t…think he wants to speak with me.”

“And I don’t care _what_ you think.” Madara huffed, his eyes flickering away to scan the forest at Tobirama’s back. When he spoke again his voice was pitched low, his eyes still focused elsewhere and decidedly away from Tobirama. “He started drinking again. It’ll be the death of him if he doesn’t stop.”

The way Madara’s hand moved to brush at the hair falling in front of his eye raised some flags Tobirama desperately hoped were fake. “And how is he, when he’s drunk?” Probably not as subtle as he’d hoped it would be, considering how quickly Madara’s eyes cut right back to him.

“He didn’t recognize me at first.”

That, at least, was something of a relief. Though it did feel wrong to leave Madara with such a nasty bruise, considering it was partially his own fault it happened. He reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing ever so slightly against it, Madara’s eyes widening in an almost comical way at the contact while he healed his injury.

Once his hand dropped back to his side, the quiet got a bit awkward. It was thankfully broken quickly by Madara clearing his throat, face suddenly tucked up into his high collar while his hair covered the rest of his face. “So. You’re going to talk to him.”

“I suppose I’d have to eventually, yes.”

“And eventually will be today. _After_ you take a bath - you stink.”

Tobirama flinched, hating how he could _feel_ the shame on his face. He’d washed in the river of course, every other day during his stay in the woods. But there was little fish water could do to keep both him and his clothing clean and fresh. At least that was one thing that would remain constant, it seemed - Madara never was one to mince his words.

“Not like it’s the worst I’ve smelled you.” He also apparently loved to remind people of their failures, since he had to throw _that_ low moment at him. Tobirama wasn’t given much time to relive it before Madara was turning on his heels, walking off with far too much certainty that Tobirama would follow, not even turning his head back as he spoke to him. “You’ll bathe at my house. I’m sure Izuna’s got something that’ll fit you.”

The odd prospect of wearing his oldest enemy’s clothing aside, Tobirama had to force himself not to stall at the invitation into Madara’s home. It took until he was staring at the Uchiha’s open door way to wrap his mind around it - sure, he’d been there before in this universe, but that had been because he’d sought out Madara here and bribed his way in. Getting such a casual invitation and being told to _bathe_ there - such a situation felt nearly intimate or familial, nothing of the sort he was used to coming from the other man.

It was Madara’s rather snippy “Quit letting the bugs in!” that shook him out of his stupor of sorts. He made sure to take his shoes off and place them carefully facing outward, falling instantly back on the politeness that had been drilled into him as a child in the face of such an awkward situation.

“Bathroom’s down the hall, find it yourself.”

Madara, on the other hand, was quite happy to toss all politeness out the window, more interested in kidnapping his cub than being a decent host. He wandered off towards the kitchen and left Tobirama peeking down the halls and wondering which one lead to the bathroom.

A wild guess lead him in the right direction. He tried not to think too much on whose soap he was using while he bathed, giving a long and forlorn look at the bathtub as he dried himself off after only a quick wash. No one was quite clean without a proper soak; the next chance he got, he was going to spend at least a good hour letting some hot water seep right into his bones.

There were indeed clothes waiting for him just outside the wet room, ones that thankfully fit and had neither a high collar nor the Uchiha insignia on them. Really, they looked more like training clothes than every day wear. No that he minded one bit; unless formal clothing was socially required at a specific event, Tobirama really didn’t care as long as he looked at least somewhat presentable. And considering his own clothes still smelled like river water it wasn’t like he had much choice to begin with.

He was at least present enough of mind at the moment to notice Madara wasn’t the only Uchiha in the house anymore. There still hadn’t been enough time to get used to feeling Izuna so close in proximity to him despite the many months he’d spent there, meaning it took conscious effort not to be on edge as he found the two brothers in the kitchen.

Much like the last time he’d been there, Hashi was distracting himself climbing on the counters, though this time he had a rather large and fluffy babysitter. He had no idea who the rabbit summon was tied to but he made sure to give it a wide berth, not at all willing to get in the way of such an animal. Most might see rabbits as something to scoff at, but he remembered well the scars his own Hashirama had gotten from one who’d been determined to stay in his garden and feast on his fennel.

“ _Fine_ , Senju, since you’re twisting my arm about it-” the words came so suddenly and out of no where that Tobirama nearly jumped, his head snapping to stare over at Madara, who was seated at the kitchen table with Izuna and their respective cups of tea “-I’ll watch your cub for you. _This time_. I’m not a free babysitting service, you know!”

Considering he’d had no intention of asking Madara to watch Hashi at all, Tobirama really had no comment on that. Izuna, on the other hand, immediately took the opportunity to poke fun at his brother, his chin propped up in one hand and almost hiding his grin - which was still a bit more forced than he was letting on. “Yup, twisted your arm into dragging him home and demanding the right to kitten time. Really backed you into a corner, didn’t he, aniki?”

“Whose tea are you drinking right now? And who’s making your dinner tonight?”

Izuna rolled his eyes, fiddling with the tea cup in front of him. “We all know you would have poisoned me years ago if you were ever going to follow through with that threat.”

“Shows how much you know, brat.”

Witnessing their brotherly bickering felt a bit like an intrusion, enough so for Tobirama to excuse himself then - he felt Madara’s eyes following him as he left and knew without any verbal threat that the Uchiha would be tracking his signature to make sure he went to the Senju compound.

Little he could do to get out of talking to Hashirama, really. Dragging his feet was a bit childish but he did it the entire way, dreading every inch that brought him closer to dealing with the mess he’d made of this Konoha’s hokage.

At least the house was quiet when he arrived, though there was no telling what that meant. There was no strong smell of alcohol in the living room nor the kitchen, nor any bottles thrown about the place; Hashirama’s chakra signature was likewise steady enough to believe him to be sober, but there was nothing light about it as there usually was. It was heavy and somber, dark, sober in a way that Hashirama never really was even without alcohol to dull his senses.

Hashirama was in his own room, off down the hall, both too close and too far away for Tobirama’s liking. Every step felt like a sentence of its own on his head but he still passed that distance, sliding his brother’s door open silently and standing in the doorway to watch him.

He’d never seen this Hashirama’s room. There were plants here and there - of course there were; no version of Hashirama would _be_ Hashirama without an endless supply of soil and plant life about him - but it was emptier than his own brother’s room, with duller colors and more space than he was used to. Much like the entire house he lived in, it felt _less_ lived in than the house he’d gotten used to in his own world.

The small shrine in the corner of his room was yet another thing he’d never seen before. It was before that shrine that Hashirama had seated himself, his body quiet, his back turned to the door.

There was no cushion next to him, but Tobirama took his chance either way, shutting the door and moving to settle himself down at the man’s side.

Madara had told him just that morning that anyone could see the difference between him and this world’s Tobirama, and yet Tobirama himself could see nothing out of place about the man he saw in the pictures placed carefully at the shrine. He looked just as he had in his own pictures, with the same frown and hard eyes, the same tattoos and face and hair. The same happuri with the Senju insignia engraved into the metal - which now was held tight in Hashirama’s hands, laying in his lap.

How much grief would this man go through in his life time? Tobirama tried not to sink into himself, knowing full well he’d caused the man to lose his brother twice now. No amount of apologies or discussion could fix that mistake.

“We’d never really gotten along, you know.” It was a statement with little feeling behind it despite the topic. Hashirama’s gaze was focused steadily on the portrait in front of him, one of the two brothers alone, standing a bit apart but not such a distance to suggest the deep issues that ran between them. “That should have been my first clue. Being able to eat or drink without tasting poison, no meetings with the elders behind my back, not even any real insults at my person.”

Hearing suspicions from Madara was one thing. Hearing confirmation from Hashirama cut in a way it really shouldn’t have, considering he _wasn’t_ that person - but in a way they had both started in the same place, with the same families and blood, and just knowing that some form of himself could and _did_ end up attempting to _poisoning his own brother_ …

“All I ever wanted was to know what I did.” Hashirama took a slow breath, still calm despite the topic, still not shaking as it normally might in heavy discussions. “What did I do to drive him away? Was there anything I could have done to fix it? Could we have been _brothers_ , like we were always supposed to be? I thought I might actually get the chance when your head injury made you…different.”

“I’m sorry.” There wasn’t anything else he could say, no matter that the words meant nothing.

“Were you close with your brother? Your… _me_ , I guess.”

A loaded question if there ever was one. Tobirama turned to stare at the picture once more, feeling the distance between the two brothers therein deeper than anything else. “Once, yes.” He’d done enough lying to the man next to him. It might not be the answer he was hoping for but it was the truth, and that was the best he could offer him after all he'd done.

“What happened between you?”

Tobirama shook his head, feeling guilt tug at his insides - a feeling that felt more natural than it should have at this point in his life. “I made a mistake that Anija could not forgive me for, and it drove us apart.” A mistake that was necessary at the time perhaps, but a mistake nonetheless, one that had cost him his closest family.

“He should have forgiven you.”

“You don’t even know what I did.”

“I don’t have to.” Hashirama placed the happuri ever so carefully at the shrine, the metal smudged with his fingerprints and scuffed from whatever battle it saw last. This world’s Tobirama’s last battle, no doubt. “My brother plotted to take my clan from me, my title, my life. Poisoned me. Stole information and spread more to weaken my claim and power. But he was still my _brother_ \- there isn’t a thing in the world I couldn’t forgive him for.”

“That isn’t exactly wise, Hashirama.”

“Wisdom isn’t everything.”

The birds were singing outside in Hashirama’s garden. A breeze had the bushes rustling against the window, hissing against the glass. They were the only sounds that interrupted the silence that followed Hashirama’s words, a silence that felt heavy in a way that spoke of finality. A finality that Tobirama wasn’t ready for, no matter that he’d been preparing himself for it for months. Since the moment he realized that the man next to him wasn’t _his_ brother, wasn’t the man he’d grown up with, and that he had no right to call him family.

He wasn’t ready to be alone again.

“Tobirama.”

He flinched at his name but turned to face Hashirama anyway, not quite looking him in the eye. Waiting for him to say it - to tell him to go away, that he wasn’t welcome here. It wasn’t something he’d argue either way since it was true.

“I know we’re not… You don’t see me as your brother, I know that, I can live with that, but…”

Tobirama’s eyes flickered towards Hashirama’s, finding them shinning in the early afternoon light, full of hurt he could never understand.

“Even if we’re not brothers, could we still- can we be friends, at least? Would that be alright?”

A huff of air left him, Tobirama all but sagging in its absence, in the sprout of relief he wasn't sure he was allowed to feel. “You’re an idiot.” He leaned his head against Hashirama’s shoulder, closing his eyes and letting the other hold his weight up whenever the contact wasn’t rejected - and accepting the eventual and inevitable hug that followed.

Hashirama’s chakra was still heavy and dour, but something light had touched it at least. It only barely registered as Tobirama let them both have this moment to comfort some of the wounds they’d caused each other over the years. Everything else could be put on hold until at least the next morning came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been planning this chapter for months, and am ever so happy to finally share these scenes with y'all.
> 
> **Reminder: This story is on hiatus**. Please don't ask for updates. I'll get to the story when I can.


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